DOING  MY  BIT 

FOR 

TRFT  AMD 

1  Xvl-/ JLiTVl  >l  \J 


MARGARET 
SKINNIDER 


The  Old  Corner  Book 

Store,  he. 
Boston,      -      Mass. 


DOING  MY  BIT 
FOR  IRELAND 


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MARGARET   SK1NNIDER 

School-teacher,  suffragist,  nationalist: 
wounded  while  fighting  in  the  uniform  of 
the  Irish  Volunteers 


DOING  MY  BIT 
FOR  IRELAND 


BY 

MARGARET  SKINNIDER 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON    COLLEGE    L/BRARV 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MA£ 

NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1917 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published,  June,  19 17 


205475 


i* 


INTRODUCTION 

When  the  revolt  of  a  people  that  feels 
itself  oppressed  is  successful,  it  is  writ- 
ten down  in  history  as  a  revolution — as 
in  this  country  in  1776.  When  it  fails, 
it  is  called  an  insurrection — as  in  Ire- 
land in  1 91 6.  Those  who  conquer  usu- 
ally write  the  history  of  the  conquest. 
For  that  reason  the  story  of  the  "Dublin 
Insurrection"  may  become  legendary  in 
Ireland,  where  it  passes  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  and  may  remain  quite  unknown 
throughout  the  rest  of  the  world,  unless 
those  of  us  who  were  in  it  and  yet  es- 
caped execution,  imprisonment,  or  de- 
portation, write  truthfully  of  our  per- 
sonal part  in  the  rising  of  Easter  week. 

It  was  in  my  own  right  name  that  I 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

applied  for  a  passport  to  come  to  this 
country.  When  it  was  granted  me 
after  a  long  delay,  I  wondered  if,  after 
all,  the  English  authorities  had  known 
nothing  of  my  activity  in  the  rising. 
But  that  can  hardly  be,  for  it  was  a  Gov- 
ernment detective  who  came  to  arrest 
me  at  the  hospital  in  Dublin  where  I 
was  recovering  from  wounds  received 
during  the  fighting. 

I  was  not  allowed  to  stay  in  prison; 
the  surgeon  in  charge  of  the  hospital  in- 
sisted to  the  authorities  at  Dublin  Castle 
that  I  was  in  no  condition  to  be  locked 
up  in  a  cell.  But  later  they  might  have 
arrested  me,  for  I  was  in  Dublin  twice 
— once  in  August  and  again  in  Novem- 
ber. On  both  occasions  detectives  were 
following  me.  I  have  heard  that  three 
days  after  I  openly  left  my  home  in 
Glasgow  to  come  to  this  country,  in- 
quiries were  made  for  me  of  my  family 
and  friends. 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

That  there  is  some  risk  in  publishing 
my  story,  I  am  well  aware;  but  that  is 
the  sort  of  risk  which  we  who  love  Ire- 
land must  run,  if  we  are  to  bring  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  world  the  truth  of  that 
heroic  attempt  last  spring  to  free  Ire- 
land and  win  for  her  a  place  as  a  small 
but  independent  nation,  entitled  to  the 
respect  of  all  who  love  liberty.  It  is  to 
win  that  respect,  even  though  we  failed 
to  gain  our  freedom,  that  I  tell  what  I 
know  of  the  rising. 

I  find  that  here  in  America  it  is  hard 
to  imagine  a  successful  Irish  revolt,  but 
there  was  more  than  a  fighting  chance 
for  us  as  our  plans  were  laid.  Ireland 
can  easily  be  defended  by  the  population 
once  they  are  aroused,  for  the  country 
is  well  suited  to  guerilla  warfare,  and 
the  mountains  near  the  coast  form  a 
natural  defense  from  attack  by  sea. 
Nor  do  the  people  have  to  go  outside  for 
their  food.     They  could  easily  live  for 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

years  in  the  interior  on  what  the  soil  is 
capable  of  producing.  And  there  is 
plenty  of  ammunition  in  Ireland,  too. 
If  we  had  been  able  to  take  the  British 
as  completely  off  guard  in  the  country 
districts  as  we  did  in  Dublin — had  there 
not  been  the  delay  of  a  day  in  carrying 
out  concerted  action — we  could  have 
seized  all  the  arms  and  ammunition  of 
the  British  arsenals  on  the  island. 

To-day  it  would  be  harder,  for  the 
British  are  not  likely  to  be  again  caught 
unaware  of  our  plans.  Besides,  they 
are  taking  precautions.  Drilling  of  any 
sort  is  forbidden;  foot-ball  games  are 
not  allowed;  all  excursions  are  prohib- 
ited. The  people  are  not  allowed  to 
come  together  in  numbers  on  any  occa- 
sion. 

For  a  long  time  after  the  rising,  I 
dreamed  every  night  about  it.  The 
dream  was  not  as  it  actually  took 
place,    for   the   streets   were   different 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

and  the  strategic  plans  changed,  while 
the  outcome  was  always  successful. 
My  awakening  was  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment, yet  the  memory  of  our  failure  is 
a  greater  memory  than  many  of  us  ever 
dared  to  hope. 

In  all  the  literature  of  the  Celtic  re- 
vival through  which  Ireland  has  gained 
fresh  recognition  from  the  world,  there 
is  no  finer  passage  nor  one  that  can 
mean  so  much  to  us,  than  that  para- 
graph of  the  last  proclamation  which 
Padraic  Pearse  wrote  in  the  ruined 
Dublin  post-office  when  under  shell  and 
shrapnel  fire.  At  a  moment  when  he 
knew  that  the  rising  had  been  defeated, 
that  the  end  of  his  supreme  attempt  had 
come,  he  wrote : 

"For  four  days  they  (the  men) 
have  fought  and  toiled,  almost  without 
cessation,  almost  without  sleep;  and  in 
the  intervals  of  righting,  they  have  sung 
songs  of  the  freedom  of  Ireland.     No 


x  INTRODUCTION 

man  has  complained,  no  man  has  asked 
'why  ?\  Each  individual  has  spent  him- 
self, happy  to  pour  out  his  strength  for 
Ireland  and  for  freedom.  If  they  do 
not  win  this  fight,  they  will  at  least  have 
deserved  to  win  it.  But  win  it  they  will, 
although  they  may  win  it  in  death.  Al- 
ready they  have  won  a  great  thing. 
They  have  redeemed  Dublin  from  many 
shames,  and  made  her  name  splendid 
among  the  names  of  cities. " 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Margaret   Skinnider       .      .       Frontispiece 

The    Irish    Cross    Presented    to    the 
Author 2 

Constance    Gore-Booth,    Countess    de 
Markievicz        ....  .      .       7 

Margaret     Skinnider     wearing     Boy's 
Clothes 21 

A  Fianna  Boy 53 

James  Connolly 93 

The  Proclamation  of  the  Irish  Republic  107 

Belt  Buckle 135 

Stamps  issued  by  the  Irish  Republic     .    135 

Pearse's  Last  Proclamation     .      .      .151 

The  Order  that  made  the  Surrender  of 
the  College  of  Surgeons  Inevitable    .    160 

The  Pass  Out  of  Ireland     .      .      .      .196 


DOING  MY  BIT  FOR 
IRELAND 


THE  IRISH  CROSS  PRESENTED  TO  THE 
AUTHOR 

The  inscription  reads:  "The  Cumman-na-mBan 
and  Irish  Volunteers,  Glasgow,  present  this  to  Mar- 
garet Skinnider  for  the  work  she  did  for  Ireland, 
Easter  Week,  1916," 


DOING  MY  BIT  FOR 
IRELAND 


JUST  before  Christmas  a  year  ago,  I 
accepted  an  invitation  to  visit  some 
friends  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  where, 
as  a  little  girl,  I  had  spent  many  mid- 
summer vacations.  My  father  and 
mother  are  Irish,  but  have  lived  almost 
all  their  lives  in  Scotland  and  much  of 
that  time  in  Glasgow.  Scotland  is  my 
home,  but  Ireland  my  country. 

On  those  vacation  visits  to  County 
Monaghan,  Ulster,  I  had  come  to  know 
the  beauty  of  the  inland  country,  for  I 
stayed  nine  miles  from  the  town  of 
Monaghan.  We  used  to  go  there  in  a 
3 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

jaunting-car  and  on  the  way  passed  the 
fine  places  of  the  rich  English  people — 
the  "Planter"  people  we  called  them  be- 
cause they  were  of  the  stock  that  Crom- 
well brought  over  from  England  and 
planted  on  Irish  soil.  We  would  pass, 
too,  the  small  and  poor  homes  of  the 
Irish,  with  their  wee  bit  of  ground. 
It  was  then  I  began  to  feel  resentment, 
though  I  was  only  a  child. 

In  Scotland  there  were  no  such  con- 
trasts for  me  to  see,  but  there  were  the 
histories  of  Ireland, — not  those  the 
English  have  written  but  those  read  by 
all  the  young  Irish  to-day  after  they 
finish  studying  the  Anglicized  histories 
used  in  the  schools.  I  did  it  the  other 
way  about,  for  I  was  not  more  than 
twelve  when  a  boy  friend  loaned  me  a 
big  thick  book,  printed  in  very  small 
type,  an  Irish  history  of  Ireland. 
Later  I  read  the  school  histories  and 
4 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  resentment  I  had  felt  in  County 
Monaghan  grew  hotter. 

Then  there  were  the  old  poems  which 
we  all  learned.  My  favorite  was,  "The 
Jackets  Green,"  the  song  of  a  young 
girl  whose  lover  died  for  Ireland  in 
the  time  of  William  III.  The  red  coat 
and  the  green  jacket!  All  the  differ- 
ences between  the  British  and  Irish 
lay  in  the  contrast  between  those  two 
colors.  William  III,  too!  Up  to  his 
reign  the  Irish  army  had  been  a  reality ; 
Ireland  had  had  a  population  of  nine 
millions.  To-day  there  are  only  four 
millions  of  Irish  in  Ireland,  a  country 
that  could  easily  support  five  times  that 
number  in  ease  and  comfort.  The  his- 
tory of  my  country  after  the  time  of 
William  III  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  his- 
tory of  oppression  which  we  should  tell 
with  tears  if  we  did  not  tell  it  with 
anger. 

5 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

But  I  believed  the  time  was  at  hand 
to  do  something.  We  all  believed  that ; 
foi  an  English  war  is  always  the  signal 
for  an  Irish  rising.  Ever  since  this 
war  began,  I  had  been  hearing  of  vague 
plans.  In  Glasgow  I  belonged  to  the 
Irish  Volunteers  and  to  the  Cumman- 
na-mBan,  an  organization  of  Irish  girls 
and  women.  I  had  learned  to  shoot  in 
one  of  the  rifle  practice  clubs  which  the 
British  organized  so  that  women  could 
help  in  the  defense  of  the  Empire. 
These  clubs  had  sprung  up  like  mush- 
rooms and  died  as  quickly,  but  I  kept  on 
till  I  was  a  good  marksman.  I  believed 
the  opportunity  would  soon  come  to  de- 
fend my  own  country.  And  now  I  was 
going  over  at  Christmas  to  learn  what 
hope  there  was  of  a  rising  in  the  spring. 

After  all,  I  did  not  go  to  the  quiet 
hills  of  Monaghan,  but  to  Dublin  at  the 
invitation  of  the  most  patriotic  and  rev- 
6 


CONSTANCE  GORE-BOOTH,    COUNTESS   DE   MARKIEVICZ 

One  of  the  leaders  of  the  rising.    (Her  death  sentence  was  com- 
muted to  life  imprisonment) 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

olutionary  woman  in  all  Ireland.  Con- 
stance Gore-Booth,  who  by  her  mar- 
riage with  a  member  of  the  Polish 
nobility  became  the  Countess  Mar- 
kievicz,  had  heard  of  my  work  in  the 
Cumman-na-mBan  and  wanted  to  talk 
with  me.  She  knew  where  all  the  men 
and  women  who  loved  Ireland  were 
working,  and  sooner  or  later  met  them 
all,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  of 
Planter  stock  and  by  birth  of  the  Eng- 
lish nobility  in  Ireland. 

It  was  at  night  that  I  crossed  the 
Irish  Sea.  All  other  passengers  went 
to  their  state-rooms,  but  I  stayed  on 
deck.  Leaning  back  in  a  steamer- 
chair,  with  my  hat  for  a  pillow,  I 
dropped  asleep.  That  I  ever  awakened 
was  a  miracle.  In  my  hat  I  was  carry- 
ing to  Ireland  detonators  for  bombs, 
and  the  wires  were  wrapped  around  me 
under  my  coat.  That  was  why  I  had 
9 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

not  wanted  to  go  to  a  state-room  where 
I  might  run  into  a  hot-water  pipe  or  an 
electric  wire  that  would  set  them  off. 
But  pressure,  they  told  me  when  I 
reached  Dublin,  is  just  as  dangerous, 
and  my  head  had  been  resting  heavily 
on  them  all  night! 

It  is  hard  now  to  think  of  that  hos- 
pitable house  in  Leinster  Road  with  all 
the  life  gone  out  of  it  and  its  mistress  in 
an  English  prison.  Every  one  coming 
to  Dublin  who  was  interested  in  plays, 
painting,  the  Gaelic  language,  suf- 
frage, labor,  or  Irish  Nationalism,  vis- 
ited there.  The  Countess  Markievicz 
kept  "open  house"  not  only  for  her 
friends,  but  for  her  friends'  friends. 
As  one  of  them  has  written :  "Until  she 
came  down  to  breakfast  in  the  morning, 
she  never  knew  what  guests  she  had 
under  her  roof.  In  order  not  to  dis- 
10 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

turb  her,  they  often  climbed  in  through 
the  window  late  at  night." 

The  place  was  full  of  books;  you 
could  not  walk  about  without  stumbling 
over  them.  There  were  times,  too, 
when  the  house  looked  like  the  ward- 
robe in  a  theater.  You  would  meet 
people  coming  down-stairs  in  all  man- 
ner of  costume  for  their  part  in  plays 
the  count  wrote  and  "Madam" — as  we 
called  her— acted  with  the  help  of  who- 
ever were  her  guests.  These  theatrical 
costumes  were  sometimes  used  for  plays 
put  on  at  the  Abbey  Theater,  near  by. 
They  served,  too,  as  disguises  for  suf- 
fragettes or  labor  leaders  wanted  by  the 
police.  The  house  was  always  watched 
whenever  there  was  any  sort  of  agita- 
tion in  Dublin. 

I  remember  hearing  of  one  labor 
leader  whom  the  police  hoped  to  arrest 
before  he  could  address  a  mass-meet- 
ii 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ing.  He  was  known  to  visit  Madam, 
so  the  plainclothes  men  made  for  Surrey 
House  at  once.  When  they  arrived 
they  found  a  fancy-dress  ball  going  on 
to  welcome  the  count  back  from  Po- 
land. All  windows  were  lighted,  music 
for  dancing  could  be  heard,  and  guests 
in  carriages  and  motors  were  arriving. 
This  was  no  likely  haunt  for  a  labor 
agitator,  so  they  went  away.  But  cau- 
tion brought  them  back  the  next  morn- 
ing, for  rumor  still  had  it  that  their  man 
was  hiding  there.  They  waited  about 
the  house  all  that  morning  and  after- 
noon. Many  persons  came  and  went, 
among  them  an  old  man  who  walked 
with  difficulty  and  leaned  upon  the  arm 
of  a  young  woman.  The  police  paid  no 
more  attention  to  him  than  to  the  others, 
but  it  was  the  labor  leader  in  one  of  the 
disguises  from  the  theatrical  wardrobe. 
He  made  his  speech  that  night  sur- 
12 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

rounded  by  such  a  crowd  of  loyal  de- 
fenders that  he  could  not  be  arrested. 
During  the  Transport  Workers' 
strike  in  19 13,  Madam  threw  open  her 
house  as  a  place  of  refuge  where 
strikers  were  sure  to  find  something  to 
eat  or  a  spot  to  sleep,  if  only  on  the 
drawing-room  floor.  In  addition,  she 
sold  her  jewels  to  obtain  money  to  es- 
tablish soup-kitchens  for  their  families. 
Her  energy  and  courage  always  led  her 
where  the  conflict  was  hottest.  I  do 
not  think  she  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
afraid,  once  she  decided  upon  a  course 
of  action.  Although  belonging  to  the 
most  privileged  class  in  Ireland  by  birth 
and  education,  as  a  little  girl  she  had 
thrown  herself  into  the  Irish  cause. 
She  and  her  sister  Eva  used  to  go  to  the 
stables,  take  horses  without  permission, 
and  ride  at  a  mad  pace  to  the  big  meet- 
ings. There  they  would  hear  the  great 
13 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Parnell  or  the  eloquent  Michael  Davitt 
tell  the  story  of  the  wrongs  done  to  Ire- 
land, and  urge  upon  their  hearers  great 
courage  and  self-sacrifice  that  these 
wrongs  might  be  righted.  If  all  those 
at  such  meetings  had  heeded  the 
speakers'  words  as  did  this  little 
daughter  of  Lady  Gore-Booth ;  had  they 
surrendered  themselves  as  completely 
as  she  did,  I  verily  believe  we  would  to- 
day be  far  along  the  road  toward  a  free 
Ireland. 

As  a  child  all  the  villagers  on  her 
father's  estate  loved  Madam,  for  they 
felt  her  sincerity.  When  she  was  sent 
away  to  school  or  went  to  Paris  to  study 
painting,  for  which  she  had  marked 
talent,  they  missed  her.  It  was  while 
she  was  in  Paris  that  she  met  and  mar- 
ried another  artist,  a  member  of  the 
Polish  nobility.  Poland  and  Ireland! 
Two  countries  which  have  had  their 
14 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

great  history  and  their  great  humil- 
iation now  have  their  hope  of  free- 
dom! 

Neither  the  count  nor  countess 
were  willing  to  permanently  give  up 
their  country  of  birth,  so  they  decided 
to  live  part  of  the  time  in  Dublin  and 
part  of  the  time  on  his  estates  near 
Warsaw.  It  was  while  Madam  was  in 
Poland  that  she  learned  some  of  the  fine 
old  Polish  airs  to  which  she  later  put 
words  for  the  Irish.  Upon  her  return 
to  Ireland  she  was  at  last  expected  to 
take  her  place  as  a  social  leader  in  the 
Dublin  Castle  set.  Instead,  she  went 
more  ardently  than  ever  into  all  the  dif- 
ferent movements  that  were  working 
towards  the  freedom  of  Ireland. 

About  this  time  Baden-Powell  was 

organizing  his  British  Boy  Scouts  in 

Ireland.     He  was  so  much  impressed 

with  the  success  Padraic  Pearse  was 

15 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

having  with  Irish  boys  that  he  asked 
him  to  help  him  in  the  Boy  Scout  move- 
ment. Pearse  did  not  care  to  make  po- 
tential British  soldiers  out  of  Irish  boys, 
however,  and  refused  this  invitation. 
The  incident  stirred  Madam  to  urge  an 
Irish  Boy  Scout  movement.  She  could 
not  find  any  one  to  take  it  up  with 
energy,  so  she  decided  to  do  it  herself 
with  Pearse's  cooperation.  Madam 
had  never  done  work  of  this  sort,  but 
that  did  not  deter  her.  Since  it  must 
be  an  organization  that  would  do  some- 
thing for  Irish  spirit  in  Irish  boys,  she 
named  it  after  the  Fianna  Fireann,  a 
military  organization  during  the  reign 
of  Cormac  MacAirt,  one  of  the  old  Irish 
heroes.  Its  story  was  one  of  daring 
and  chivalry  such  as  would  appeal  to 
boys.  With  this  name  went  instruc- 
tion in  Ireland's  history  in  the  days  of 
her  independence  and  great  deeds,  as 
16 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

well  as  instruction  in  scouting  and 
shooting. 

At  Cullenswood  House,  where  Pad- 
raic  Pearse  had  his  boys'  school  until  it 
outgrew  these  quarters,  there  is  a  fresco 
in  the  hall  that  pictures  an  old 
Druid  warning  the  boy  hero,  Cuchul- 
lain,  that  whoever  takes  up  arms  on  a 
certain  day  will  become  famous,  but  will 
die  an  early  death.  The  answer,  which 
became  a  motto  for  the  boys  in  that 
school  and  also  a  prophecy  of  their 
teacher's  death,  is  in  old  Irish  beneath 
the  fresco : 

"I  care  not  if  my  life  has  only  the 
span  of  a  night  and  a  day  if  my  deeds 
be  spoken  of  by  the  men  of  Ireland  I" 

It  was  in  this  spirit  of  devotion  to  Ire- 
land that  the  Fianna  boys  were  drilled. 
The  house  in  Leinster  Road  was  always 
running  over  with  them,  some  as  young 
as  ten  years.  You  would  find  them 
17 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

studying  hard  or,  just  as  likely,,  sliding 
down  the  fine  old  banisters.  Madam 
never  went  anywhere  that  they  did  not 
follow  as  a  bodyguard.  They  loved  her 
and  trusted  her,  a  high  compliment, 
since  I  have  always  found  that  boys  are 
keen  judges  of  sincerity.  If  her  work 
had  been  either  pose  or  mere  hysterical 
enthusiasm,  as  some  English  "friends" 
in  Dublin  have  sought  to  make  the  world 
believe,  these  boys  would  have  dis- 
covered it  quickly  enough.  As  it  was, 
they  remained  her  friends,  and  two  of 
the  younger  men,  executed  after  Easter 
Week,  were  volunteer  officers  who 
received  their  first  training  under 
Madam  in  the  Fianna. 

The  countess  was  one  of  the  best 
shots  in  Ireland,  and  taught  the  boys 
how  to  shoot.  After  the  rising,  when 
we  all  had  surrendered,  there  still  was 
one  house  from  which  constant  and 
18 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

effective  firing  went  on  for  three  days. 
At  last  a  considerable  force  of  British 
took  it  by  storm.  Imagine  the  surprise 
of  the  officer  in  command  when  he 
found  that  its  only  occupants  were  three 
boys,  all  under  sixteen ! 

"Who  taught  you  to  shoot  like  that?" 
he  asked  them. 

'The  Countess  Markievicz,"  came  the 
answer. 

"How  often  did  she  drill  you?" 

"Only  on  Sundays,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  these  great  lumps  of  mine," 
exclaimed  the  officer  in  disgust,  "are 
drilled  twice  a  day  and  don't  yet  know 
their  left  foot  from  their  right!" 

Madam  also  took  real  interest  in  the 
personal  problems  of  her  boys.  While 
I  was  staying  with  her  at  Christmas,  she 
was  teaching  a  boy  to  sing.  He  was 
slowly  growing  blind,  and  nothing  could 
be  done  to  save  his  sight;  but  she  de- 
19 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

termined  that  he  should  have  a  liveli- 
hood, and  spent  hours  of  her  crowded 
days  in  teaching  him  the  words  and 
music  of  all  the  best  patriotic  songs  and 
ballads.  If  she  heard  that  any  of  the 
boys  were  sick,  she  would  have  them 
brought  over  to  Surrey  House  where 
she  herself  could  nurse  and  cheer  them. 
Between  times  she  would  rouse  their 
love  of  country  to  a  desire  to  study  its 
history. 

When  I  told  Madam  I  could  pass  as  a 
boy,  even  if  it  came  to  wrestling  or 
whistling,  she  tried  me  out  by  putting 
me  into  a  boy's  suit,  a  Fianna  uniform. 
She  placed  me  under  the  care  of  one  of 
her  boys  to  wThom  she  explained  I  was 
a  girl,  but  that,  since  it  might  be  neces- 
sary some  day  to  disguise  me  as  a  boy, 
she  wanted  to  find  whether  I  could 
escape  detection.  I  was  supposed  to  be 
one  of  the  Glasgow  Fianna.  We  went 
20 


MARGARET    SKINNID2R 

(wearing  boy's  clothes) 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

out,  joined  the  other  Fianna,  and  walked 
about  the  streets  whistling  rebel  tunes. 
Whenever  we  passed  a  British  soldier 
we  made  him  take  to  the  gutter,  telling 
him  the  streets  of  Dublin  were  no  place 
"for  the  likes  of  him." 

The  boys  took  me  for  one  of  them- 
selves, and  some  began  to  tell  me  their 
deeds  of  prowess  in  Dublin.  Ever  since 
the  war  began  they  had  gone  about  to 
recruiting  meetings,  putting  speakers  to 
rout  and  sometimes  upsetting  the  plat- 
forms. This  sounds  like  rowdyism, 
but  it  is  only  by  such  tests  of  courage 
and  strength  that  the  youth  of  a  domi- 
nated race  can  acquire  the  self-confi- 
dence needed  later  for  the  real  struggle. 

They  sang  for  me  Madam's  "Anti- 
recruiting  Song,"  which  they  always 
used  as  an  accompaniment  to  their 
attacks  on  recruiting-booths.  Its  first 
two  lines  go  thus : 

23 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

The    recruiters    are    raidin'    old    Dublin, 

boys ! 
It *s  them  we  '11  have  to  be  troublin',  boys ! 

And  the  last  two  lines  are : 

From  a  Gael  with  a  gun  the  Briton  will 

run! 
And  we  '11  dance  at  the  wake  of  the  Empire, 

boys! 

These  disturbances  by  the  Fianna 
were  part  of  a  campaign  by  which 
Nationalists  hoped  to  keep  Irishmen  out 
of  the  war  and  ready  for  their  own  fight 
when  the  time  came.  Many  were  kept 
at  home,  but  hundreds,  thrown  out  of 
work  by  their  employers  with  the  direct 
purpose  of  making  them  enter  the  Brit- 
ish army,  had  to  enlist  for  the  pitiful 
"king's  shilling."  Nothing  so  illus- 
trates the  complete  lack  of  humor  of  the 
British  as  their  method  of  arousing 
interest  in  the  war.  They  declared  it 
24 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

was  the  part  of  England  to  "defend  the 
honor  and  integrity  of  small  nations"! 

Even  before  the  war  the  countess  had 
watched  for  any  opportunity  to  destroy 
militarist  propaganda.  Although  Eng- 
land has  won  the  world's  heart  by  ex- 
plaining she  never  considered  there  was 
danger  of  war,  and  for  that  reason  the 
preparedness  of  her  enemy  was  an  un- 
fair advantage,  still,  we  had  heard  of 
the  German  menace  for  a  long  time.  It 
was  announced  in  Dublin  that  the  play, 
"An  Englishman's  Home,"  which  had 
had  a  long  run  in  London,  where  it 
pictured  to  thousands  the  invasion  of 
England  by  the  Germans,  was  to  open 
for  an  equally  long  run  in  the  Irish 
capital  to  stir  us  to  take  precautions 
against  invasion. 

Madam  took  her  Fianna  boys  in  full 
force  to  the  opening  night  performance. 
They  occupied  pit  and  gallery  while  the 
25 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

rest  of  the  theater  was  filled  with  Brit- 
ish officers  and  their  wives.  The  fine 
uniforms  and  evening  dress  made  a 
great  showing,  for  Dublin  is  the  most 
heavily  garrisoned  city  of  its  size  in  the 
world. 

The  play  went  on  peacefully  enough 
until  the  Germans  appeared  on  the 
stage.  At  their  first  appearance  as  the 
invading  foe,  the  Fianna,  in  green  shirts 
and  saffron  kilts,  stood  up  and  sung  in 
German  "The  Watch  on  the  Rhine/' 
just  as  the  countess  had  taught  it  to 
them. 

Of  course  there  was  consternation, 
but  after  a  moment  an  officer  stood  up 
and  began  to  sing  "God  Save  the  King/' 
All  the  other  officers  and  the  "ascend- 
ancy people/'  as  we  call  our  English 
upper  class  in  Ireland,  rose  and  joined 
him.  But  you  cannot  safely  sing  "God 
Save  the  King"  in  Dublin.  Eggs  and 
26 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

vegetables  at  once  began  to  fly,  and  the 
curtain  had  to  be  rung  down.  So  ended 
the  Dublin  run  of  "An  Englishman's 
Home" ! 

These  things  the  Fianna  boys  told  me 
on  our  way  to  the  shooting-gallery 
where  they  wanted  to  see  the  Glasgow 
"boy"  shoot.  I  hit  the  bull's-eye 
oftener  than  any  of  them,  much  to  the 
delight  of  the  boy  who  knew  I  was  a 
girl.  He  was  not  much  surprised,  how- 
ever, for  by  her  own  skill  Madam  had 
accustomed  them  to  expect  good  marks- 
manship in  a  woman. 


27 


II 

AS  this  was  my  first  visit  to  Dublin, 
Madam  thought  I  might  want  to 
see  some  of  the  sights.  She  took  me  to 
a  museum  and  next  suggested  that  we 
visit  an  art  gallery. 

"What  I  really  want  to  see/'  I  told 
her,  "is  the  poorest  part  of  Dublin,  the 
very  poorest  part." 

This  pleased  her,  for  her  heart  is 
always  there.  She  took  me  to  Ash 
Street.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  worse 
street  in  the  world  than  Ash  Street.  It 
lies  in  a  hollow  where  sewage  runs  and 
refuse  falls;  it  is  not  paved  and  is  full 
of  holes.  One  might  think  it  had  been 
under  shell-fire.  Some  of  the  houses 
have  fallen  down, — from  sheer  weari- 
28 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ness  it  seems, — while  others  are  shored 
up  at  the  sides  with  beams.  The  fallen 
houses  look  like  corpses,  the  others  like 
cripples  leaning  upon  crutches. 

Dublin  is  full  of  such  streets,  lanes, 
and  courts  where  houses,  years  ago  con- 
demned  by  the  authorities,  are  still 
tenanted.  These  houses  are  symbolic 
of  the  downfall  of  Ireland.  They  were 
built  by  rich  Irishmen  for  their  homes. 
To-day  they  are  tenements  for  the 
poorest  Irish  people,  but  they  have  not 
been  remodeled  for  this  purpose,  and 
that  is  one  reason  why  them  seem  so 
appalling — the  poor  among  the  ruins  of 
grandeur. 

In  one  room,  perhaps  a  drawing- 
room,  you  find  four  families,  each  in  its 
own  corner,  with  sometimes  not  as  much 
as  the  tattered  curtains  for  partitions. 
Above  them  may  be  a  ceiling  of  won- 
derfully modeled  and  painted  figures,  a 
29 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

form  of  decoration  the  art  of  which  has 
been  lost.  At  the  end  of  this  room  is  a 
mantel  of  purest  white  marble  over  an 
enormous  fireplace  long  ago  blocked  up, 
except  for  a  small  opening  in  which  a 
few  coals  at  a  time  may  be  burned. 
The  doors  of  such  a  room  are  often 
made  of  solid  mahogany  fifteen  feet  in 
height. 

The  gas  company  of  Dublin  refuses 
to  furnish  gas  above  the  second  floor, 
and  the  little  fireplaces  can  never  give 
enough  heat,  even  when  fuel  is  compar- 
atively plentiful.  As  I  write,  coal  is 
fifteen  dollars  a  ton,  and  is  costing  the 
poor,  who  buy  in  small  quantities,  from 
thirty  to  forty-five  per  cent.  more. 

In  Dublin  there  are  more  than  twenty 
thousand  such  rooms  in  which  one  or 
more  families  are  living.  That  epi- 
demics are  not  more  deadly  speaks  well 
for  the  fundamental  health  of  those  who 
3° 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

live  in  them,  for  there  are  no  sanitary 
arrangements.  Water  is  drawn  from  a 
single  tap  somewhere  in  the  backyard. 
The  only  toilet,  to  be  used  by  all  the 
people  in  any  one  of  these  houses,  is  also 
in  the  backyard  or,  worse  still,  in  a  dark, 
unventilated  basement. 

The  head  of  a  family  in  these  one- 
time "mansions,"  which  number  several 
thousand,  seldom  makes  more  than  four 
or  five  dollars  a  week !  Of  this  amount, 
if  they  want  the  luxury  of  even  a  small 
room  to  themselves,  they  must  pay 
about  a  dollar.  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
the  word  "rent"  has  a  fearful  sound  to 
the  Irish  ?  After  this  rent  is  paid,  there 
is  not  much  left  for  food  and  clothes. 
Starvation,  even  in  time  of  peace,  is 
always  hovering  near.  Bread  and  tea 
f o:  breakfast,  but  rarely  butter ;  bread 
and  tea,  and  either  herrings  or  potatoes, 
sometimes  with  cabbage,  for  their  mid- 
31 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

day  meal;  bread  and  tea  for  supper. 
Two  fifths  of  the  inhabitants  of  Dublin 
live  on  this  fare  the  year  round.  If 
they  have  beef  or  mutton  once  a  week 
they  must  eat  it  boiled  or  fried,  since 
the  fireplaces  are  too  primitive  for  roast- 
ing or  baking.  Neither  will  they  permit 
baking  of  bread  or  cakes. 

Yet  Ireland  could  raise  fruit  and 
vegetables  and  grain  for  twenty  million 
people!  I  have  seen  ships  deep  laden 
with  food  for  need  of  which  the  Irish 
are  slowly  starving — I  contend  under- 
nourishment is  starvation — going  in  a 
steady  stream  to  England.  The  reason 
was  that  the  English  were  able  to  pay 
better  prices  than  the  man  at  home. 
Food,  since  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
has  literally  been  drained  out  of  the 
country.  Ireland  to-day  is  in  a  state  of 
famishment,  if  not  of  famine. 

Here  in  Dublin,  though  the  streets 
32 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

and  lanes  seem  full  of  children,  the 
death-rate  is  tremendously  high.  The 
population  of  all  Ireland  has  decreased 
fifty  per  cent,  in  fifty  years.  In  Poland, 
under  the  rule  of  the  Russian  czar,  the 
population  increased.  It  is  one  thing  to 
read  about  Irish  "grievances,"  it  is 
another  to  be  living  where  they  go  on 
year  after  year. 

"Grievance" — that  is  the  way  the 
British  sum  up  our  sense  of  wrong, 
and  with  such  effect  that  people  the 
world  over  fancy  our  wrongs  are  not 
wrongs  but  imagined  grievances.  The 
word  itself  counts  against  us  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  have  never  been  to 
Ireland  and  seen  for  themselves  the  con- 
ditions under  which  the  great  majority 
of  the  population  must  live.  To  be 
sure,  there  are  always  complaints  car- 
ried to  Parliament  and  then  a  "commis- 
sion of  inquiry,"  followed  a  little  later 
33 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

by  a  "report  upon  conditions."  But  the 
actual  results  seem  small.  It  was  dis- 
gust for  this  sort  of  carrying  out  com- 
plaints in  a  basket  and  bringing  back 
reports  in  the  very  same  basket  that 
roused  Arthur  Griffith  to  write  his  pam- 
phlet on  Hungary  and  her  rebuilding 
from  within.  He  felt  that  the  Irish, 
too,  must  set  about  saving  themselves 
without  political  help  from  parlia- 
mentarians. He  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that,  since  Irishmen  who  went  to 
Parliament  seemed  so  soon  to  forget 
their  country  except  as  it  served  their 
political  advancement,  we  ought  not  to 
send  men  to  Parliament.  Ireland,  he 
declared,  should  concentrate  upon  the 
economic  and  industrial  life  possible  to 
her — a  life  that  could  be  developed  won- 
derfully if  men  set  out  to  win  Ireland 
for  the  Irish.  This  propaganda  of 
Griffith's — for  it  soon  became  such — 
34 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

stirred  all  the  young  men  and  women 
who  before  had  been  hopeless.  "Ire- 
land for  the  Irish !"  The  movement 
quickly  became  what  is  called  the  "Sinn 
Fein,"  which  is  Gaelic  for  "Ourselves 
Alone." 

That  this  organization  should  be  con- 
sidered in  America  as  a  sort  of  "Black 
Hand,"  or  anarchistic  society,  is  evi- 
dence of  the  impression  it  made  upon 
the  English  as  a  powerful  factor  to  be 
reckoned  with.  It  had  come  into  being 
overnight,  but  its  principles  were  as  old 
as  Ireland.  It  sprang  from  a  love  of 
Ireland  and  not,  as  many  believe,  from 
hatred  of  England.  It  could  not  have 
thrived  as  it  did  wherever  it  touched  a 
young  heart  and  brain  if  it  had  merely 
been  a  protest.  It  had  a  national  ideal 
and  goal.  Every  day  was  dedicated  to 
it.  To  speak  the  Irish  language;  to 
wear  Irish-made  clothes  of  Irish  tweed ; 
35 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

to  think  and  feel,  write,  paint,  or  work 
for  the  best  interests  of  Ireland;  to 
make  every  act,  personal  or  communal, 
count  for  the  betterment  of  Ireland — 
all  this  was  animated  by  love  of  our 
country.  The  Sinn  Fein  was  constantly 
inspired  by  poems  and  essays  which  ap- 
peared in  Arthur  Griffith's  weekly  mag- 
azine. That  poetry  to-day  is  known 
throughout  civilization  as  the  poetry  of 
the  "Celtic  Revival." 

There  was  a  gospel  of  "passive  re- 
sistance," too,  which  led  Irishmen  to 
refuse  to  pay  taxes  or  take  any  part  in 
the  Anglicizing  of  Ireland.  It  was  this 
phase  that  soon  won  the  disapproval  of 
the  party  that  stood  for  parliamentary 
activity,  and  naturally  it  aroused  dis- 
satisfaction in  England. 

From  Ash  Street  the  countess  took 
me  to  Glasnevin  Cemetery,  where  men 
36 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

lie  buried,  who,  having  lived  under  con- 
ditions such  as  I  had  just  looked  upon, 
spent  their  lives  in  protest  against  the 
same.  Here  was  the  grave  of  O'Dono- 
van  Rossa  and  a  score  of  others  whom 
I  felt  were  heroes.  Here,  also,  was  the 
grave  of  Anne  Devlin,  that  brave 
woman  who  refused  to  betray  Robert 
Emmet  to  the  British  officers  seeking 
him  after  his  unsuccessful  effort  to 
oppose  English  rule  in  1803.  These 
graves  and  the  ruinous  houses  of  Ash 
Street  show  patriotism  and  poverty 
working  for  each  other  and,  despite 
themselves,  against  each  other. 

A  few  months  after  my  visit,  there 
was  fighting  all  about  Glasnevin  Ceme- 
tery between  the  Royal  Irish  Constab- 
ulary and  those  who  were  to  carry  on 
the  traditions  of  the  great  struggle. 

Not  far  from  the  home  of  Countess 
Markievicz  stand  the  Portobello  bar- 
17 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

racks,  while  much  farther  off  are  the 
Beggar's  Bush  barracks.  She  asked 
me  one  day  if  I  thought  I  could  make  a 
plan  of  the  latter  from  observation  that 
would  be  of  use  if  at  any  time  it  was 
decided  to  dynamite  them.  She  gave 
no  explanation,  did  not  even  tell  me  in 
what  part  of  Dublin  the  barracks  were 
located  nor  that  two  officers  of  the  Irish 
Volunteers  had  already  tried  to  make 
this  plan  and  had  failed.  But  she  knew 
that  I  had  had  experience  in  gaging  dis- 
tances and  drawing  maps.  I  had  just 
taken  a  course  in  calculus,  and  it  was 
when  telling  her  of  my  love  for  mathe- 
matics that  she  set  me  this  task. 

There  was  a  large  map  of  Dublin  on 
the  wall  of  a  study  in  her  house.  I 
scrutinized  this  carefully,  for  I  did  not 
know  my  way  alone  about  Dublin. 
Then  I  started  out  and  found  the  place 
without  great  difficulty.  It  is  in  the 
38 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

southwestern  outskirts  of  the  city,  a 
large,  brick  structure  rilling  in  the  right 
angle  where  two  streets  meet.  From 
this  corner  I  walked  very  slowly  along 
the  front  of  the  barracks,  counting  my 
paces,  gaging  the  height  of  the  outer 
wall,  and  studying  the  building  itself 
for  anything  its  secretive  exterior  might 
betray.  I  presently  noticed  that  the 
loopholes  which  appeared  in  the  wall  at 
regular  intervals  stopped  short  a  num- 
ber of  yards  from  the  corner.  They 
had  been  filled  in  with  bricks  of  a 
slightly  different  color  than  the  rest  of 
the  wall.  At  once  I  asked  myself  why 
this  had  been  done  and,  to  discover  the 
reason,  if  possible,  crossed  the  street  to 
where  I  could  look  over  the  wall.  I  was 
able  to  see  that  within  the  right  angle  at 
the  corner  was  a  small,  circular  build- 
ing. It  stood  close  to  both  the  front 
and  side  wall,  yet  did  not  touch  either. 
39 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

There  was  room  for  a  sentry  to  walk 
around  it,  and  all  loopholes  near  it  had 
been  bricked  up. 

The  conclusion  I  drew  from  this  fact 
was  that  here  was  a  powder  magazine. 
It  was  so  placed  as  not  to  be  too  notice- 
able from  the  street,  easily  guarded  by 
a  sentry,  and  conveniently  near  the  loop- 
holes in  case  defense  of  the  barracks 
became  necessary. 

I  walked  away,  and  next  approached 
the  barracks  from  another  side.  Here 
I  found  that  between  the  street  and  the 
main  wall  was  a  low  outer  wall  about  my 
own  height.  When  I  reached  the  spot 
where  I  thought  the  magazine  ought  to 
be,  I  took  my  handkerchief  and  let 
it  blow — accidentally,  of  course — over 
this  outer  wall.  A  passing  boy  gal- 
lantly offered  to  get  it  for  me.  Being  a 
woman  and  naturally  curious,  I  found  it 
necessary  to  pull  myself  up  on  tiptoe  to 
40 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

watch  him  as  he  climbed  over  the  wall. 
The  ground  between  the  two  walls  had 
not  been  paved,  but  was  of  soft  earth. 
I  had  seen  enough.  Thanking  the  boy, 
I  put  my  handkerchief  carefully  into  my 
pocket  so  as  not  to  trouble  any  one  else 
by  making  them  climb  about  on  Dublin 
walls,  and  went  on  my  way. 

Upon  my  return  to  Leinster  Road,  I 
gave  the  distances  and  heights  I  had 
taken  to  Madam,  describing  the  way  a 
hole  could  be  dug,  under  cover  of  a  dark 
night,  between  the  two  walls  close  to 
where  the  magazine  stood.  A  quantity 
of  explosive  could  be  placed  in  this  hole, 
a  long  wire  could  be  attached  to  a  de- 
tonator and  laid  along  the  outer  wall  for 
some  distance,  and  then,  without  being 
noticed,  some  one  could  touch  the  end 
of  the  wire  with  the  battery  from  a 
pocket  flashlamp.  The  explosion  that 
followed,  I  felt  sure,  would  blow  up  not 
4i 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

only  the  inner  wall,  but  the  wall  of  the 
magazine  and  set  off  the  powder  stored 
therein.  Madam  asked  me  to  write  this 
all  down.  Later  she  showed  what  I  had 
written  to  the  man  who  was  to  be  Com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Republican  army 
in  Dublin,  James  Connolly.  He  knew 
Beggar's  Bush  barracks  well  enough  to 
see  that  my  map  was  correct  and  be- 
lieved the  plan  practicable  enough  to 
'  carry  out  in  case  conscription  should  be- 
come a  fact  in  Ireland  despite  all  prom- 
ises to  the  contrary. 

But  the  test  I  had  been  put  to  was,  it 
seemed,  not  merely  a  test  of  my  ability 
to  draw  maps  and  figure  distances. 
From  that  day  I  was  taken  into  the  con- 
fidence of  the  leaders  of  the  movement 
for  making  Ireland  a  republic. 

The  situation,  I  learned  from  Mr. 
Connolly,  was  very  hopeful,  because  for 
the  first  time  in  hundreds  of  years  those 
42 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

who  were  planning  a  revolution  to  free 
Ireland  had  organized  bodies  of  Irish- 
men who  not  only  were  well  trained  in 
the  use  of  firearms,  but  so  full  of  the 
spirit  of  the  undertaking  that  they  were 
ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  mobilize. 
There  was  the  Irish  Citizen  Army 
which  Mr.  Connolly  had  organized 
after  the  Transport  Workers'  strike  to 
defend  working-men  from  onslaughts  by 
the  police.  I  do  not  believe  any  one 
who  has  not  seen  what  we  call  a  "baton 
charge"  of  the  Dublin  police  can  quite 
comprehend  the  motives  which  make  for 
such  ruthless  methods. 

In  the  first  place,  whenever  the  police 
are  called  out  for  strike  duty  or  to  be  on 
the  lookout  for  rioting,  they  are  given 
permission  to  drink  all  they  wish.  At 
the  station-houses  are  big  barrels  of 
porter  from  which  the  police  are  ex- 
pected to  help  themselves  freely.  Then 
43 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  saloon-keepers — we  call  them  pub- 
licans— are  not  expected  to  refuse  a 
drink  to  any  policeman  who  demands  it, 
and  are  paid  or  not  according  to  the 
mood  of  the  protector  of  the  public 
peace.  Add  to  this  that  the  police  do 
not  attack  in  order  to  disperse  a  crowd, 
but  to  kill.  In  a  public  square  where  a 
crowd  has  gathered  to  hear  a  labor 
speech,  the  police  assemble  on  four  sides 
and,  upon  a  given  signal,  rush  to  the 
center,  pushing  even  innocent  pass- 
ers-by into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  that, 
on  the  instant,  has  become  a  mob. 
Then  the  police  use  their  batons  like  shil- 
lalahs,  swinging  them  around  and 
around  before  bringing  them  down  upon 
the  heads  of  the  people. 

Fearing  one  of  these  baton  attacks  in 

1913,  Madam,  having  come  down  to  the 

square  in  her  car,  had  just  stepped  out 

upon  the  sidewalk  when  she  was  struck 

44 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

full  in  the  face  by  a  policeman's  club! 
On  that  same  day,  too,  the  police  rushed 
into  the  adjoining  streets  and  clubbed 
every  person  they  met,  even  people  sev- 
eral blocks  from  the  square  who,  at  the 
moment,  were  coming  out  of  church 
from  vesper  service. 

Mr.  Connolly  found  that  in  any  strike 
in  Ireland  the  interests  of  England  and 
of  the  employer  were  the  same ;  that  his 
strikers  had  to  meet  the  two  members 
of  the  opposition  without  any  defense. 
Therefore  he  had  organized  the  men 
who  were  righting  for  better  hours  and 
wages  into  a  "Citizen  Army/'  It  is 
against  the  law  for  any  one  to  bear  arms 
in  Ireland,  but  in  this  case  the  authori- 
ties could  do  nothing  because  they  had 
not  disarmed  the  men  of  Ulster  when  the 
latter  armed  and  drilled  to  defend  them- 
selves against  Home  Rule,  should  it  be- 
come a  fact.  The  Ulster-men  were 
45 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

openly  planning  insurrection  under  Sir 
Edward  Carson — insurrection  against 
a  law,  a  political  measure  desired  by  the 
majority!  It  was  an  anarchistic  out- 
break that  Carson  had  in  mind.  Mr. 
Connolly,  on  the  other  hand,  was  organ- 
izing simply  for  defense  against  police 
power  that  had  grown  unbridled  in  its 
activities.  No  one  interfered  with  him. 
As  always,  this  organization  was  un- 
der surveillance,  and  reports  about  it 
were  sent  to  the  authorities.  But  there 
appeared  to  be  no  more  than  three  hun- 
dred members,  a  small  body  not  dan- 
gerous to  the  police  if  it  should  come 
into  conflict  with  them.  It  was  not 
known  that  there  were  several  times 
three  hundred  members,  but  that  only 
this  number  was  allowed  to  drill  or 
march  at  any  one  time.  This  drilling 
baffled  the  police.  Many  a  night  the 
three  hundred  would  be  mobilized  and 
46 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

quietly  march  through  Dublin  out  into 
the  country,  the  police  trailing  wearily 
and  nervously  after  them,  expecting 
some  excitement  along  the  line  of  march. 
Nothing  ever  happened.  Back  to  town 
in  the  wee,  small  hours  the  police  would 
come,  only  to  see  the  men  disperse  as 
quietly  as  they  had  assembled  and  go 
home  to  bed.  After  this  had  happened 
many  times,  it  no  longer  attracted  offi- 
cial attention.  Only  perfunctory  re- 
ports were  made  of  any  mobilization  of 
the  Citizen  Army,  and  thus  it  came 
about  that  on  Easter  Sunday  the  mo- 
bilization was  taken  for  nothing  more 
than  the  usual  drill  and  not  reported. 

The  second  organization,  the  Irish 
Volunteers,  was  brought  into  being  by 
those  in  favor  of  Home  Rule,  and  was 
a  makeweight  against  the  Ulster-men. 
Since  the  Irish  Volunteers  were  organ- 
ized to  protect  law,  to  uphold  Home 
47 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Rule  should  it  become  a  fact  as  prom- 
ised, nothing  could  be  done  by  the  au- 
thorities when  the  volunteers  began  to 
arm  themselves.  Besides,  nothing  had 
been  done  to  prevent  the  Ulster-men 
from  arming  themselves.  The  conserv- 
ative press  in  England  actually  sup- 
ported the  Ulster-men,  and  English 
army  officers  resigned  rather  than  dis- 
arm them.  What,  then,  could  they  be 
expected  to  do  to  a  body  of  men  who 
stood  for  law  and  order  instead  of  op- 
posing it  as  in  Ulster?  This  situation 
made  possible  a  strategic  position  for 
the  leaders  of  the  Republican  move- 
ment. 

Had  not  the  authorities  realized  that 
now  they  would  meet  with  armed  re- 
sistance if  they  broke  their  promise 
about  conscription,  we  should  have  had 
to  send  our  brothers  to  France  and 
Flanders  early  in  the  war.  But  the 
48 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Citizen  Army  and  the  Irish  Volunteers 
had  no  intention  of  allowing  men  to  be 
carried  off  to  fight  England's  battles 
when,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years, 
there  was  a  chance  of  winning  freedom 
for  Ireland.  To  keep  this  constantly  in 
the  public  mind,  Mr.  Connolly  had  a 
large  sign  hung  over  the  main  entrance 
to  Liberty  Hall,  his  headquarters: 

WE  SERVE  NEITHER  KING  NOR 
KAISER,  BUT  IRELAND 


49 


Ill 

THE  need  of  explosives  was  great, 
and  I  took  part  in  a  number  of  ex- 
peditions to  obtain  them.  One  night  we 
raided  a  ship  lying  in  the  river.  The 
sailors  were  drunk,  and  three  or  four  of 
our  men  had  no  trouble  in  getting  into 
the  hold.  I  was  standing  guard  on  the 
other  side  of  the  embankment  wall, 
holding  one  end  of  a  string  that  served 
as  a  telegraph  between  our  outposts  in 
the  street  and  our  men  in  the  boat.  One 
jerk  from  me  meant,  "Some  one  com- 
ing"; two  jerks,  "Police";  three  jerks, 
"Clear  out  as  best  you  can." 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  outpost  up  the 
street  whistling  a  patriotic  tune.     This 
was  a  signal  to  me.     It  meant  the  po- 
5o 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

lice  were  coming.  I  gave  two  jerks  of 
the  string  and  waited. 

A  policeman  came  slowly  toward  me. 
He  had  his  dark-lantern  and,  catching 
sight  of  me,  flashed  it  in  my  face.  He 
stared,  but  said  nothing.  No  doubt  he 
was  wondering  what  a  decently  dressed 
girl  was  doing  in  that  part  of  town  at 
such  an  hour.  I  watched  him  as  closely 
as  he  watched  me.  If  he  caught  sight 
of  my  string,  I  intended  to  give  three 
jerks,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  throw 
pepper  in  his  face,  my  only  weapon. 

But  he  did  not  notice  the  string,  and 
passed  on.  My  heart  had  stopped  beat- 
ing; now  it  began  again,  though  I  felt 
rather  queer.  Risks  like  this  have  to 
be  taken,  however,  when  one  is  prepar- 
ing a  revolution  and  has  neither  fire- 
arms nor  ammunition,  the  people  in 
power  having  put  an  embargo  upon 
them.  It  is  all  in  the  way  of  war.  I 
5i 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

can  add  that  this  raid  was  as  successful 
as  usual. 

One  day  the  countess  took  several  of 
us,  including  her  dog  Poppet,  out  be- 
yond Dundrum.  Upon  our  return  we 
could  call  this  expedition  "a  little  shoot- 
ing party."  And  it  would  be  the  truth, 
for  Poppet,  being  an  Irish  cocker,  more 
interested  in  hunting  than  in  revolts, 
joined  himself  to  two  men  who  were  in- 
tent on  getting  birds.  He  was  of  so 
great  assistance  that  these  men,  in  rec- 
ognition of  his  services,  gave  us  a  few 
of  the  birds  he  brought  in.  We  took 
them  home  as  trophies. 

But  the  whole  truth  was  that  we  had 
been  out  to  test  dynamite.  We  were 
looking  for  some  old  wall  to  blow  up, 
and  found  one  on  the  side  of  a  hill. 
After  the  hunters  had  disappeared,  two 
of  us  were  posted  with  field-glasses 
while  Madam  set  off  the  explosive.  It 
52 


A.    FIANNA    BOY 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

was  a  lonely  place,  so  we  were  not  dis- 
turbed. The  great  stones  flew  into  the 
air  with  dust  and  thunder.  Indeed,  the 
country  people  round  about,  when  they 
heard  that  rumble  and  saw  the  cloud  of 
smoke,  must  have  wondered  at  the  sud- 
den thunder-storm  on  the  hill. 

An  Irishman  told  me  once  that,  al- 
though he  had  hoped  for  a  revolution 
and  worked  for  it,  he  had  never  felt  it 
would  be  a  reality  until  one  night  when 
he  and  some  friends,  out  cross-country 
walking  in  the  moonlight,  came  upon 
Madam  and  her  Fianna  boys  bivouacked 
in  the  open.  They  had  come  out  for  a 
drill.  She  was  in  uniform,  with  knee- 
breeches,  puttees,  and  officer's  coat,  and 
the  whole  scene  was  martial  and  intense. 

The  Fianna  were  proud  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  the  first  military  organ- 
ization in  Ireland,  four  years  older  than 
either  the  Irish  Citizen  Army  or  the 
55 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Irish  Volunteers.  It  was  in  1909  that 
the  countess  heard  of  Baden-Powell 
coming  to  Ireland  to  organize  his  Brit- 
ish Boy  Scouts,  where  they  might  be 
useful  later  on  to  the  empire.  She 
tried  to  get  people  interested  in  organiz- 
ing the  same  way  for  Ireland,  and  fi- 
nally made  this  her  own  task,  though 
she  knew  nothing  of  military  tactics  and 
as  little  of  boys.  There  wras  virtually 
no  money  or  equipment  like  that  in 
Baden-Powell's  organization,  and  nat- 
urally many  blunders  were  made  at  the 
outset.  But  she  studied  both  boys  and 
tactics,  and  finally  came  to  believe  that 
to  succeed,  the  spirit  of  old  Ireland  must 
be  invoked.  So  the  organization  was 
given  the  historic  Gaelic  name,  Fianna, 
with  its  flavor  of  romance  and  patriotic 
tradition.  The  boys  saved  up  their 
money  for  uniforms  and  equipment,  and 
from  the  beginning  were  aware  of  them- 
56 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

selves  as  an  independent,  self-respecting 
body.  They  have  stood  well  the  test  of 
the  revolution.. 

One  of  the  most  popular  actresses 
at  the  Abbey  Theater  in  Dublin  was 
Helen  Maloney.  Through  her  energy 
Mr.  Connolly  returned  from  America  to 
organize  the  working-men  of  Ireland, 
and  thus  met  the  countess.  From  the 
friendship  and  cooperation  of  these 
three  persons,  you  can  judge  how  all 
class  distinction  had  gone  down  before 
the  love  of  Ireland  and  the  determina- 
tion to  free  her. 

James  Connolly  was  a  very  quiet  man 
at  the  time  I  met  him,  quiet  and  tense. 
He  was  short  and  thick-set,  with  a 
shrewd  eye  and  determined  speech. 
He  proved  a  genius  at  organization,  and 
this  was  lucky,  for  in  Dublin  there  are 
no  great  factories,  except  Guinness's,  to 
employ  large  numbers  of  men,  and  this 
57 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

makes  organization  difficult.  To  have 
managed  such  a  strike  as  the  Transport 
Workers'  in  19 13,  after  only  half  a 
dozen  years  of  organization,  is  proof 
of  his  great  ability.  And  then  to  or- 
ganize a  Citizen's  Army! 

Connolly  is  the  answer  to  those  who 
think  the  rising  was  the  work  of  dream- 
ers and  idealists.  No  one  who  knew 
him  could  doubt  that  when  he  led  his 
army  of  working-men  into  battle  for  the 
Irish  Republic,  he  believed  there  was  a 
good  fighting  chance  to  establish  such 
a  republic.  He  was  practical,  and  had 
no  wish  to  spill  blood  for  the  mere  glory 
of  it;  there  was  nothing  melodramatic 
about  him.  A  north  of  Ireland  man, — 
he  originally  came  from  the  only  part  of 
Ireland  I  know  well,  County  Monaghan, 
— he  had  many  times  given  proof  of 
sound  judgment  and  courage.  He  was 
often  at  the  house  of  the  countess  while 
58 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

I  was  visiting  her,  and  one  evening,  just 
before  I  left,  Madam  called  my  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  he  was  in  better 
spirits  than  for  a  long  time  past.  Word 
had  come  to  him  from  America  that  on 
or  near  Easter  Sunday  a  shipf  ul  of  arms 
and  ammunition  would  arrive  in  Ire- 
land. This  news  determined  the  date 
of  the  rising,  for  it  was  all  that  was 
needed  from  without  to  insure  success. 
We  believed  this  then,  and  do  still. 

We  were  collecting  and  hiding  what 
arms  and  ammunition  we  could.  In 
proportion  to  the  amount  of  courage  of 
those  in  the  secret,  so  the  dynamite  that 
they  hid  against  the  day  soon  to  come 
grew  and  accumulated.  Though  the 
house  in  Leinster  Road  was  always 
watched,  the  countess  had  it  stocked  like 
an  arsenal.  Bombs  and  rifles  were  hid- 
den in  absurd  places,  for  she  had  the 
skill  to  do  it  and  escape  detection.  A 
59 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

French  journalist  who  visited  Dublin 
shortly  before  the  insurrection  possibly 
came  upon  some  of  this  evidence,  or 
perhaps  it  was  only  the  Fianna  uniforms 
which  impressed  him,  for  he  wrote : 

"The  salon  of  the  Countess  Mar- 
kiewicz  is  not  a  salon.  It  is  a  military 
headquarters." 

Despite  this  martial  ardor,  Madam 
found  time  to  write  poetry  and  "sedi- 
tious" songs.  This  poetry  would  be  in 
print  now  had  not  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Wise-Power,  where  she  left  it  for  safe- 
keeping, been  blown  to  pieces  by  Eng- 
lish gunners  when  they  tried  to  find  the 
range  of  the  post-office.  Their  marks- 
manship would  not  have  been  so  poor, 
perhaps,  had  they  had  the  countess  to 
teach  them. 

Many  of  the  singers  of  our  old  and 
new  lays  are  in  prison,  sentenced  for 
their  part  in  stirring  up  insurrection, 
60 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

even  though  they  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  rising  itself.  The  authorities 
seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  these  pa- 
triotic concerts  while  they  were  being 
given,  but  afterward  they  paid  this  mod- 
ern minstrelsy  the  tribute  it  deserved. 
For  these  concerts  were  full  of  inspi- 
ration to  every  one  who  attended. 
Though  all  were  in  the  open,  they  were, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  "seditious,"  if  that 
word  means  stirring  up  rebellion  against 
those  who  rule  you  against  your  will. 

One  of  the  many  things  I  recall  gives 
a  clear  idea  of  the  untiring  and  never- 
ending  enthusiasm  of  the  countess. 
She  realized  one  day  that  the  Christmas- 
cards  usually  sold  in  Ireland  were 
"made  in  Germany/'  and  since  the  war 
was  on,  had  been  supplanted  by  cards 
"made  in  England."  She  sat  down  at 
once  to  design  Irish  Christmas-cards 
for  the  holiday  season  of  1916.  But 
61 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

when  that  Christmas  came  around  she 
was  in  prison,  and  the  cards  were — no 
one  can  say  where. 

When  I  left  Dublin  to  return  to  my 
teaching  in  Glasgow,  they  made  me 
promise  that  I  would  come  back  when- 
ever they  sent  for  me,  probably  just  be- 
fore Easter. 


62 


IV 

WHEN  I  told  my  mother  on  my 
return  of  the  plans  for  Easter, 
she  shook  her  head. 

"There  never  was  an  Irish  rising  that 
some  one  did  n't  betray  it,"  she  said. 
"It  was  so  in  '67,  and  before  that  in 
1798.'" 

But  she  did  not  appreciate  the  spirit 
I  had  found  in  Dublin.  I  told  her  that 
all  were  united,  rich  and  poor,  dock- 
workers,  school-teachers,  poets,  and 
bar-tenders.  They  were  working  to- 
gether ;  I  believed  they  would  stand  and 
fight  together.     And  I  was  right. 

It  was  not  easy  to  go  quietly  back  to 
teaching  mathematics  and  hear  only 
now  and  then  what  was  going  on  in 
63 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Dublin.  Fortunately,  Glasgow  is  two 
fifths  Irish.  Indeed,  there  are  as  many 
Irish  there  as  in  Dublin  itself,  and  the 
spirit  among  the  younger  generation  is 
perhaps  more  intense  because  we  are  a 
little  to  one  side  and  thus  afraid  of  be- 
coming outsiders. 

In  February,  when  conscription  came 
to  Scotland,  there  was  nothing  for  mem- 
bers of  the  Irish  Volunteers  in  Glasgow 
to  do  but  to  disappear.  I  knew  one  lad 
of  seventeen  whose  parents,  though 
Irish,  wanted  him  to  volunteer  in  the 
service  of  the  empire.  He  refused, 
telling  them  his  life  belonged  to  Ire- 
land. He  went  over  to  fight  at  the  time 
of  the  rising,  and  served  a  year  in 
prison  afterward. 

Whenever   an   Irish  Volunteer  was 

notified   to   report   for   service   in   the 

Glasgow  contingent  of  the  British  army, 

he  would  slip  across  the  same  night  to 

64 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Ireland,  and  go  to  Kimmage,  where  a 
camp  was  maintained  for  these  boys. 
While  the  British  military  authorities 
were  hunting  for  them  in  Scotland  and 
calling  them  "slackers,"  they  were  drill- 
ing and  practising  at  the  target,  or 
making  ammunition  for  a  cause  they 
believed  in  and  for  which  they  were 
ready  to  die. 

Presently  news  came  from  Dublin 
that  James  Connolly  had  written  a  play 
entitled,  "Under  which  Flag?"  We 
heard  also  that  when  it  was  produced, 
it  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  public. 
In  this  play  the  hero,  during  the  last  act, 
chooses  the  flag  of  the  republic  and  the 
final  curtain  falls.  Some  one  told  Mr. 
Connolly  he  ought  to  write  another  act 
to  show  what  happened  afterward. 
His  reply  was  that  another  act  would 
have  to  be  written  by  "all  of  us  to- 
gether." 

65 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

I  know  that  many  people  in  this  coun- 
try have  seen  the  Irish  Players  and  felt 
their  work  was  a  great  contribution  to 
the  drama,  but  I  doubt  if  any  one  here 
can  realize  what  it  means  to  see  upon 
the  stage  a  play  dealing  with  your  hopes 
and  fears  just  at  a  time  when  one  or 
the  other  are  about  to  be  realized.  For 
ten  years  the  world  has  watched  with 
interest  as  these  plays  were  staged,  as 
poetry  appeared  which  seemed  to  have 
a  new  note  in  it.  The  world  called  it  a 
"Celtic  Revival."  England,  too,  was 
interested,  for  these  Irish  playwrights, 
poets,  and  painters  served  to  stimulate 
her  own  artists.  What  if  some  of  the 
sagas,  revived  by  archaeologists,  did 
picture  Irish  heroism?  What  if  the 
theme  of  play  or  poem  was  a  free  Ire- 
land? What  if  school-boys  under  a 
Gaelic  name  did  play  at  soldiering? 

"Dangerous?"  some  one  asked. 
66 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

"Nonsense!"  retorted  mighty  Eng- 
land. "Would  poets,  pedagogues,  and 
dreamers  dare  to  lead  the  Irish  people 
against  the  imperial  power  that  had 
dominated  them  for  centuries?  Un- 
thinkable!" 

England  has  never  understood  us  so 
little  as  in  these  last  ten  years.  Our 
pride  was  growing  tremendously — 
pride  not  in  what  we  have,  but  in  what 
we  are.  The  Celtic  Revival  was  only 
an  expression  of  this  new  pride. 

It  was  on  the  eighteenth  of  April  that 
a  member  of  the  Dublin  town  council 
discovered  that  the  British  meant  to 
seize  all  arms  and  ammunition  of  the 
Irish  Volunteers  and  Irish  Citizen 
Army.  History  was  repeating  itself. 
It  was  on  an  eighteenth  of  April  that 
American  colonists  discovered  the  Brit- 
ish intention  of  seizing  their  arms  and 
ammunition  at  Concord.  In  both  cases 
67 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

revolt  was  made  inevitable  by  this  ac- 
tion. 

What  the  reason  was  that  led  imme- 
diately to  such  an  order  being  given  to 
the  British  military  authorities  in  Dub- 
lin, I  do  not  know.  It  had  to  do  with 
conscription,  of  course,  and  it  may  have 
been  quickened  by  the  resistance  of  the 
Irish  Citizen  Army  to  the  police. 
Madam  told  me  that,  a  short  time  before, 
the  police  had  attempted  one  noon  to 
raid  Liberty  Hall  while  they  supposed 
the  place  was  empty.  By  the  merest  ac- 
cident, she  and  Mr.  Connolly,  with  one 
or  two  others,  were  still  there.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  raid  was  to  get  possession  of 
the  press  on  which  was  printed  "The 
Workers'  Republic,''  a  paper  published 
at  the  hall  by  Mr.  Connolly. 

When  the  first  members  of  the  police 
force  entered,  Connolly  asked  them  if 
they  had  a  warrant.  They  had  none. 
68 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

He  told  them  they  could  not  come  in 
without  one.  At  the  same  time  the 
countess  quietly  drew  her  revolver  and 
as  quietly  pointed  it  in  their  direction 
in  a  playful  manner.  They  understood 
her,  however,  and  quickly  withdrew  to 
get  their  warrant. 

Immediately  Connolly  sent  an  order 
for  the  Citizen  Army  to  mobilize. 
How  they  came!  On  the  run,  slipping 
into  uniform  coats  as  they  ran;  several 
from  the  tops  of  buildings  where  they 
were  at  work,  others  from  under- 
ground. More  than  one,  thinking  this 
an  occasion  of  some  seriousness,  in- 
stantly threw  up  their  jobs. 

By  the  time  the  police  returned 
with  their  warrant,  the  Irish  Citizen 
Army  was  drawn  up  around  Liberty 
Hall,  ready  to  defend  it.  It  was  not 
raided. 

Mr.  Connolly  showed  me  a  copy  of 
69 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  secret  order  when  I  arrived  on  Holy 
Thursday.     It  read: 

The  following  precautionary  measures  have 
been  sanctioned  by  the  Irish  Office  on  recom- 
mendation of  the  General  Officer  commanding 
the  forces  in  Ireland.  All  preparations  will 
be  made  to  put  these  measures  in  force  imme- 
diately on  receipt  of  an  order  issued  from  the 
Chief  Secretary's  Office,  Dublin  Castle,  and 
signed  by  the  Under  Secretary  and  the  Gen- 
eral Officer  commanding  the  forces  in  Ireland. 

First,  the  following  persons  will  be  put 
under  arrest :  All  members  of  the  Sinn  Fein 
National  Council,  the  Central  Executive  Irish 
Sinn  Fein  Volunteer  County  Board,  Irish  Sinn 
Fein  Volunteers,  Executive  Committee  Na- 
tional Volunteers,  Coisda  Gnotha  Committee, 
Gaelic  League.  See  list  A3  and  4,  and  sup- 
plementary list  A2. 

I  interrupt  the  order  to  emphasize  the 
fact  that  we  were  all  listed,  and  that 
the  "Sinn  Fein"  organization  seemed  to 
attract  most  attention  from  the  author- 
ities. Indeed,  after  it  was  all  over,  the 
70 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

rising  was  often  called  the  "Sinn  Fein 
Revolt."  The  Sinn  Fein  was  an  organ- 
ization which  had  become  a  menace  to 
Great  Britain  because  of  its  tactics  of 
passive  resistance.  The  words  Sinn 
Fein,  as  already  stated,  mean  "ourselves 
alone,"  and  the  whole  movement  was 
for  an  Irish  Ireland. 

The  Sinn  Feiners  are  likened  to  the 
"Black  Hand"  or  other  anarchistic 
groups  by  those  who  read  of  them  as 
leaders  of  a  "revolt."  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  were,  from  the  first,  the  liter- 
ary, artistic,  and  economic  personalities 
who  started  the  Celtic  Revival.  Ar- 
thur Griffiths,  who  is  not  given  enough 
credit  for  the  passion  with  which  he 
conceived  the  idea  of  working  for  Ire- 
land as  Hungarians  worked  for  Hun- 
gary, published  a  little  weekly  maga- 
zine in  which  the  first  of  the  new  poetry 
appeared.  It  appealed  to  the  deepest  in- 
71 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

stincts  in  us ;  it  was  a  revolt  of  the  spirit, 
clothing  itself  in  practical  deed. 

But  it  was  not  a  negative  program. 
The  refusal  to  do  or  say  or  think  in  the 
Anglicized  way,  as  was  expected  of  us, 
held  in  it  loyalty  to  something  fine  and 
free,  the  existence  of  which  we  believed 
in  because  we  had  read  of  it  in  the  his- 
tory of  Ireland  in  our  sagas.  We  were 
not  a  people  struggling  up  into  an  un- 
tried experience,  but  a  people  regaining 
our  kingdom,  which  at  one  time  in  the 
history  of  mankind  had  been  called 
"great"  wherever  it  was  known  of  or 
rumored. 

This  was  the  feeling  that  animated 
the  groups  listed  by  British  military 
men  as  the  "Sinn  Fein  National  Coun- 
cil" and  "Central  Executive  and  Coisda 
Gnotha  Committee  of  the  Gaelic 
League,"  but  which  to  an  outsider  can- 
not, without  explanation,  give  any  idea 
72 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

of  the  fire  and  fervor  implanted  in  com- 
mittee and  council. 

But  to  return  to  the  document.  It 
went  on: 

An  order  will  be  issued  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  city  to  remain  in  their  homes  until  such 
time  as  the  Competent  Military  Authority  may 
otherwise  direct  and  permit. 

Pickets  chosen  from  units  of  Territorial 
Forces  will  be  at  all  points  marked  on  maps  3 
and  4.  Accompanying  mounted  patrols  will 
continuously  visit  all  points  and  report  every 
hour. 

The  following  premises  will  be  occupied  by 
adequate  forces  and  all  necessary  measures 
used  without  need  of  reference  to  Head- 
quarters : 

First,  premises  known  as  Liberty  Hall, 
Beresford  Place ; 

No.  6  Harcourt  Street,  Sinn  Fein  Building; 

No.  2  Dawson  Street,  Headquarters  Volun- 
teers ; 

No.  12  D'Olier  Street,  Nationality  Office; 

No.  25  Rutland  Square,  Gaelic  League  of- 
fice; 

73 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

No.  41  Rutland  Square,  Foresters'  Hall ; 
Sinn  Fein  Volunteer  premises  in  city; 
All  National  Volunteer  premises  in  city; 
Trades  Council  premises,  Capel  Street; 
Surrey  House,  Leinster  Road,  Rathmines. 

The  following  premises  will  be  isolated,  all 
communication  to  or  from  them  prevented: 
Premises  known  as  the  Archbishop's  House, 
Drumcondra ;  Mansion  House,  Dawson  Street ; 
No.  40  Herbert  Park,  Ballyboden;  Saint  En- 
da's  College,  Hermitage,  Rathfarnham ;  and, 
in  addition,  premises  in  list  5  D,  see  maps  3 
and  4. 

This  order  should  become  a  classic, 
because  it  is  such  a  good  list  of  all  meet- 
ing-places of  those  who  loved  and 
worked  for  Ireland  in  the  last  few  years. 
Even  the  home  of  the  countess,  Surrey 
House,  was  to  have  been  occupied;  and 
Saint  Enda's,  the  school  where  Padraic 
Pearse  was  head  master  and  chief  in- 
spiration, was  to  be  "isolated." 

Had  there  been  any  question  about  a 
74 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

rising,  the  possession  of  this  secret  or- 
der to  the  military  authorities  in  Dublin 
would  have  been  the  signal  for  it.  It 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  these  head- 
quarters of  all  that  was  Irish  in  the  city 
would  surrender  tamely  to  "occupa- 
tion." More  than  this,  the  order  gave 
new  determination  to  a  secret  organiza- 
tion not  mentioned  in  it,  the  Irish  Re- 
publican Brotherhood.  Not  that  this 
was  a  new  organization,  or  unknown  to 
the  British,  for,  in  its  several  phases,  it 
had  been  in  existence  since  1858.  Its 
oath  is  secret,  yet  has  been  published  in 
connection  with  disclosures  about  the 
Fenian  movement.  This  was  one  of  the 
names  it  bore,  before  the  rising  of  1867 
betrayed  it  to  the  Government.  So  at 
this  time  Connolly  and  Padraic  Pearse 
and  McDonagh,  with  all  those  working 
to  free  Ireland,  were  members  of  this 
brotherhood,  and  the  republic  seemed 
75 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

nearer  becoming  a  reality  than  ever  be- 
fore in  the  history  of  the  long  struggle. 

At  Liberty  Hall  I  saw  the  flag  of  the 
republic  waiting  to  be  raised.  I  saw, 
too,  the  bombs  and  ammunition  stored 
there,  and  was  set  to  work  with  some 
other  girls  making  cartridges.  This 
was  on  the  Thursday  before  Easter. 
That  same  evening  I  was  given  a  des- 
patch to  take  to  Belfast.  The  address 
of  the  man  to  whom  it  was  to  be  de- 
livered was  at  Mr.  Connolly's  home  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  city.  I  was  to  go 
there  first  and  get  it  from  Nora  Con- 
nolly, then  go  on  to  this  man. 

I  had  never  been  in  Belfast,  and  when 
I  reached  the  city,  it  was  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  The  streets  were  dark 
and  deserted.  I  finally  had  to  ask  a 
policeman  which  of  the  few  cars  run- 
ning would  take  me  to  that  part  of  town 
where  the  Connollys  lived.  I  wonder 
76 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

what  he  would  have  done  had  he  guessed 
I  was  bent  upon  revolutionary  business. 
There  is  something  very  weird  in  know- 
ing that  while  things  are  going  on  as 
usual  in  the  outer  world,  great  changes 
are  coming  unawares. 

I  rang  in  vain  when  I  reached  the 
house.  Could  all  the  family  be  some- 
where else  ?  Could  I  have  made  a  mis- 
take? I  was  beginning  to  think  so 
when  a  window  opened,  and  I  heard  a 
voice  say :  "It 's  all  right,  Mother. 
It 's  only  a  girl."  Presently  the  door 
opened.  They  had  been  afraid  that  it 
was  the  police,  for  in  these  last  few  days 
before  the  time  set,  suspense  was  keen. 
At  any  moment  all  plans  might  be  given 
away  to  the  police  and  every  one  ar- 
rested. A  ring  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  was  terrifying.  They  had  not 
been  to  bed;  they  were  making  Red 
Cross  bandages  and  learning  details  of 
77 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

equipment  and  uniform  for  the  first-aid 
girls.  They  had  slept  little  for  days, 
now  that  the  time  of  the  rising  ap- 
proached. 

We  did  not  dare  go  out  again  in  the 
dead  of  night  to  hunt  up  the  man  far 
whom  I  had  brought  my  despatch.  This 
action  would  create  suspicion.  So  about 
five  o'clock,  just  when  the  working- 
people  were  beginning  to  go  about  their 
tasks,  we  took  the  street  car,  went  into 
another  part  of  Belfast,  and  found  him. 

Mrs.  Connolly  and  the  girls  went  back 
to  Dublin  with  me.  They  were  to  be 
there  during  the  revolt,  and  did  not 
know  if  they  would  ever  see  their  home 
again ;  but  they  dared  not  take  anything 
with  them  except  the  clothes  on  their 
backs.  Always  no  suspicion  must  be 
aroused ;  it  "must  look  as  if  they  were 
starting  off  for  the  Easter  holidays. 
This  was  not  an  easy  leave-taking,  for 
78 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

there  was  a  fair  chance  of  the  house 
being  sacked  and  burned.  Mrs.  Con- 
nolly went  about,  picking  up  little  things 
that  would  go  in  her  trunk  but  the 
absence  of  which  would  not  be  noticed 
if  any  inquisitive  policeman  came  in  to 
see  whether  anything  suspicious  was 
going  on.  As  we  left,  none  of  them 
looked  back  or  gave  any  show  of  feel- 
ing.    Revolution  makes  brave  actors. 

That  afternoon  I  was  again  at  am- 
munition work.  This  time  my  duty  was 
to  go  about  Dublin,  taking  from  hiding- 
places  dynamite  and  bombs  secreted 
therein.  Once,  on  my  way  back  to 
Liberty  Hall  with  some  dynamite 
wrapped  in  a  neat  bundle  on  the  seat 
beside  me,  I  heard  a  queer,  buzzing 
noise.  It  seemed  to  come  from  inside 
the  bundle. 

"Is  it  going  off?"  I  asked  myself,  and 
sat  tight,  expecting  every  moment  to  be 
79 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

blown  to  bits.  But  nothing  happened; 
it  was  only  the  car-wheels  complaining 
as  we  passed  over  an  uneven  bit  of  track. 


80 


V 

IT  was  on  Saturday  morning  that  I 
heard  the  news  of  our  first  defeat 
— a  defeat  before  we  had  begun.  The 
ship  with  arms  and  ammunition  that 
had  been  promised  us  while  I  was  in 
Dublin  at  Christmas,  had  come  into 
Tralee  Harbor  and  waited  twenty-one 
hours  for  the  Irish  Volunteers  of  Tra- 
lee to  come  and  unload  her.  But  it  had 
attracted  no  attention  except  from  a 
British  patrol-boat,  and  so  had  to  turn 
about  and  put  to  sea  again.  There- 
upon, the  suspicions  of  the  officials  hav- 
ing led  them  to  set  out  after  the  Aud, 
she  had  shown  her  German  colors  and, 
in  full  sight  of  the  harbor,  blew  herself 
81 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

up  rather  than  allow  her  valuable  cargo 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  British. 

Besides  several  machine-guns,  twenty 
thousand  rifles  and  a  million  rounds  of 
ammunition  were  aboard  that  ship. 
For  every  one  of  those  rifles  we  could 
have  won  a  man  to  carry  it  in  the  rebel- 
lion. Thus  their  loss  was  an  actual  loss 
of  fighting  strength. 

It  all  was  a  blunder  that  now  seems 
like  fate.  The  And,  as  first  planned, 
was  to  arrive  on  Good  Friday.  Then 
the  leaders  decided  it  would  be  better 
not  to  have  her  arrive  until  after  the 
rising  had  begun,  or  on  Easter.  Word 
of  this  decision  was  sent  to  America,  to 
be  forwarded  to  Germany.  This  was 
done,  but  the  And  had  just  sailed,  keep- 
ing to  her  original  schedule.  She  car- 
ried no  wireless,  and  so  could  not  be 
reached  at  sea. 

I  often  think  the  heroic  determination 
82 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

of  that  captain  to  sink  his  ship  and  crew 
must  have  been  preceded  by  many  hours 
of  bitterest  chagrin  and  anxiety.  He 
could  not  have  had  the  slightest  idea 
why  the  plan  was  not  being  carried  out. 
It  would  have  been,  too,  had  the  Volun- 
teers at  Tralee,  remembering  the  uncer- 
tainty of  all  communication,  been  on 
watch  for  fear  the  countermanding 
order  might  have  miscarried. 

But  it  was  too  late  now  to  draw  back, 
even  had  the  leaders  so  desired.  I  do 
not  believe  that  idea  ever  entered  their 
heads,  for  their  course  of  action  had 
been  long  planned.  Two  men,  how- 
ever, were  uncertain  of  the  wisdom  of 
going  on  with  it.  One  of  them,  The 
O'Rahilly,  was  minister  of  munitions  in 
the  provisional  government  and  felt  the 
loss  keenly,  because  his  entire  plan  of 
work  had  been  based  on  this  cargo  now 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  When  he 
83 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

found  that  the  majority  believed  suc- 
cess was  still  possible,  and  that  the 
seizure  of  arms  in  the  British  arsenals 
in  Ireland  would  compensate  for  the 
loss,  he  gave  in  and  worked  as  whole- 
heartedly as  the  others.  The  second 
man  to  demur  was  Professor  Eoin  Mc- 
Neill, who  was  at  the  head  of  the  Irish 
Volunteers  as  their  commander-in- 
chief.  He  did  not  wish  to  risk  the  lives 
of  his  men  against  such  heavy  odds. 
Yet,  when  he  left  the  conference,  he  had 
not  given  one  hint  of  actually  opposing 
plans  then  under  discussion. 

As  I  came  out  of  church  on  Easter 
morning,  I  saw  placards  everywhere  to 
this  effect : 

NO   VOLUNTEER   MANCEUVERS 
TO-DAY 

This  was  astounding!     The  maneu- 
vers were  to  be  the  beginning  of  the 
84 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

revolution.  To-day  they  were  not  to  be 
the  usual,  simple  drill,  but  the  real 
beginning  of  military  action.  All  over 
Ireland  the  Volunteers  were  expected  to 
mobilize  and  stay  mobilized  until  the 
blow  had  been  struck — until,  perhaps, 
victory  had  been  won.  And  the  Irish 
Volunteers  made  up  two  thirds  of  our 
fighting  force.  "No  Volunteer  manceu- 
vers  to-day" ?     What  could  it  mean? 

I  bought  a  newspaper  and  read  the 
order  of  demobilization,  signed  by  Pro- 
fessor McNeill.  What  could  have  hap- 
pened? I  hurried  to  Liberty  Hall  to 
find  the  leaders  there  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  I.  They  knew  McNeill  had 
been  depressed  and  fearful  of  results, 
but  they  had  not  supposed  him  capable 
of  actually  calling  off  his  men  from  the 
movement  so  late  in  the  day,  though  this 
was  quite  within  his  technical  rights  if 
he  wished.  They  had  taken  for  granted 
85 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

that  he,  like  The  O'Rahilly,  would  pre- 
fer to  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  rest  of  us. 
I  recalled  that  at  Christmas  the  countess 
had  been  eager  to  have  another  head 
chosen  for  the  Volunteers.  Over  and 
over  again  she  had  said  that,  though  Mc- 
Neill had  been  splendid  for  purposes  of 
organization,  and  the  presence  of  so 
earnest  and  pacific  a  man  in  command  of 
the  Volunteers  had  prevented  England 
from  getting  nervous,  he  was  not  the 
man  for  a  crisis.  She  liked  him,  but  her 
intuition  proved  right.  He  could  not 
bear  that  his  Irish  Volunteers  should 
risk  their  lives  and  gain  nothing  thereby. 
He  truly  believed  they  had  no  chance 
without  the  help  the  And  had  promised. 
As  soon  as  he  had  published  his  demo- 
bilization order,  he  went  to  his  home  out- 
side Dublin  and  stayed  there  during  the 
rising.  It  was  there  he  was  arrested 
and,  though  his  action  so  helped  the 
86 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

British  that  the  royal  commission  after- 
ward said  he  "broke  the  back  of  the 
rebellion,"  he  was  sentenced  for  life, 
and  sits  to-day  in  Dartmoor  Prison 
making  sacks.  This  is  the  man  who 
was  one  of  our  greatest  authorities  on 
early  Irish  history. 

There  never  was  a  hint  of  suspicion 
that  McNeill's  act  was  other  than  the 
result  of  fear.  No  one  who  knew  him 
could  doubt  his  loyalty  to  Ireland.  It 
was  his  love  for  the  Volunteers,  the  love 
of  a  man  instinctively  pacifist,  that  made 
him  give  that  order.  Oh,  the  satire  of 
history !  By  such  an  order,  many  of  us 
believe,  he  delivered  to  the  executioner 
the  flower  of  Ireland's  heart  and  brain. 
We  believe  that  if  those  manceuvers  had 
taken  place  at  the  time  set,  the  British 
arsenals  in  Ireland  would  easily  have 
been  taken  and  arms  provided  for  our 
men.     Indeed,  we  would  rather  have 

87 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

taken  arms  and  ammunition  from  the 
British  than  have  accepted  them  as  gifts 
from  other  people. 

The  eternal  buoyancy  with  which 
Irishmen  are  credited  came  to  their 
rescue  that  Sunday  morning.  Mr. 
Connolly  and  others  believed  that  if 
word  was  sent  into  the  country  districts 
that  the  Citizen  Army  was  proceeding 
with  its  plans,  that  the  Volunteers  of 
Dublin,  consisting  of  four  battalions 
under  Padraic  Pearse  and  Thomas  Mc- 
Donaugh,  were  going  to  mobilize,  the 
response  would  be  immediate.  At  once 
word  was  sent  out  broadcast.  Norah 
Connolly  walked  eighty  miles  during 
the  week  through  the  country  about 
Dublin,  carrying  orders  from  head- 
quarters. But  she,  like  other  messen- 
gers, found  that  the  Volunteers  were  so 
accustomed  to  McNeill's  signature  that 
they  were  afraid  to  act  without  it. 
88 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

They  feared  a  British  trick.  We  Irish 
are  so  schooled  in  suspicion  that  it  some- 
times counts  against  us.  In  Galway 
they  had  heard  that  the  rising  in  Dublin 
was  on,  and  later  put  up  such  a  fight 
that,  had  it  been  seconded  in  other  coun- 
ties by  even  a  few  groups,  the  republic 
would  have  lived  longer  than  it  did.  It 
might  even  have  won  the  victory  in 
which,  only  three  days  before,  we  all  had 
faith. 

The  Volunteers  numbered  men  from 
every  class  and  station;  the  Citizen 
Army  was  made  up  of  working-men 
who  had  the  advantage  of  being  under 
a  man  of  decision  and  quick  judgment. 
At  four  o'clock  the  Citizen  Army  mo- 
bilized in  front  of  Liberty  Hall  to  carry 
out  the  route  march  as  planned.  After 
this  march  the  men  were  formed  into 
a  hollow  square  in  front  of  Liberty  Hall 
and  Connolly  addressed  them. 
89 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

"You  are  now  under  arms,"  he  con- 
cluded. "You  will  not  lay  down  your 
arms  until  you  have  struck  a  blow  for 
Ireland!" 

The  men  cheered,  shots  were  fired 
into  the  air,  and  that  night  their  bar- 
racks was  Liberty  Hall. 

You  might  think  a  demonstration  of 
this  character,  a  speech  in  the  open, 
would  attract  enough  attention  from  the 
police  to  make  them  send  a  report  to  the 
authorities.  None  was  sent.  They  had 
come  to  feel,  I  suppose,  that  while  there 
was  so  much  talk  there  would  be  little 
action.  Nor  did  they  remember  that 
Easter  is  always  the  anniversary  of 
that  fight  hundreds  of  years  ago  when 
native  Irish  came  to  drive  the  foreigner 
from  Dublin.  This  year,  in  addition,  it 
fell  upon  the  date  of  the  Battle  of  Clon- 
tarf,  so  there  was  double  reason  for 
90 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

sentiment  to  seize  upon  the  day  for  a 
revolt. 

During  the  night,  Irishmen  from 
England  and  Scotland  who  had  been  en- 
camped at  Kimmage  with  some  others, 
came  into  Dublin  and  joined  the  men  at 
Liberty  Hall.  Next  morning  I  saw 
them  while  they  were  drawn  up,  waiting 
for  orders.  Every  man  carried  a  rifle 
and  a  pike!  Those  pikes  were  admis- 
sion of  our  loss  through  the  sinking  of 
the  And,  for  the  men  who  carried  them 
might  have  been  shouldering  additional 
rifles  to  give  to  any  recruits  picked  up 
during  the  course  of  the  day.  Pikes 
would  not  appeal  to  an  unarmed  man  as 
a  fit  weapon  with  which  to  meet  British 
soldiers  in  battle.  We  could  have  used 
every  one  of  those  twenty  thousand  lost 
rifles,  for  they  would  have  made  a 
tremendous  appeal. 
91 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

I  was  sent  on  my  bicycle  to  scout 
about  the  city  and  report  if  troops  from 
any  of  the  barracks  were  stirring. 
They  were  not.  Moreover,  I  learned 
that  their  officers,  for  the  most  part, 
were  off  to  the  races  at  Fairview  in  the 
gayest  of  moods. 

When  I  returned  to  report  to  Mr. 
Connolly,  I  had  my  first  glimpse  of 
Padraic  Pearse,  provisional  president  of 
the  Irish  Republic.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
over  six  feet,  with  broad  shoulders 
slightly  stooped  from  long  hours  as  a 
student  and  writer.  But  he  had  a  sol- 
dierly bearing  and  was  very  cool  and 
determined,  I  thought,  for  a  man  on 
whom  so  much  responsibility  rested,- — 
at  the  very  moment,  too,  when  his  dream 
was  about  to  take  form.  Thomas 
McDonagh  was  also  there.  I  had  not 
seen  him  before  in  uniform,  and  he,  too, 
gave  me  the  impression  that  our  Irish 
92 


JAMES   CONNOLLY 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

scholars  must  be  soldiers  at  bottom,  so 
well  did  he  appear  in  his  green  uni- 
form. At  Christmas  he  had  given  me  a 
fine  revolver.  It  would  be  one  of  my 
proudest  possessions  if  I  had  it  now,  but 
it  was  confiscated  by  the  British. 

I  was  next  detailed  as  despatch  rider 
for  the  St.  Stephen's  Green  Command. 
Again  I  went  out  to  scout,  this  time  for 
Commandant  Michael  Mallin.  If  I  did 
not  find  the  military  moving,  I  was  to 
remain  at  the  end  of  the  Green  until  I 
should  see  our  men  coming  in  to  take 
possession.  There  were  no  soldiers  in 
sight;  only  a  policeman  standing  at  the 
far  end  of  the  Green  doing  nothing. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  me ;  I  was  only 
a  girl  on  a  bicycle.  But  I  watched  him 
closely.  It  was  impossible  to  believe 
that  neither  the  police  nor  the  military 
authorities  were  on  guard.  But  this 
chap  stood  about  idly  and  was  the  last 
95 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

policeman  I  saw  until  after  the  rising 
was  over.  They  seemed  to  vanish  from 
the  streets  of  Dublin.  Even  to-day  no 
one  can  tell  you  where  they  went. 

It  was  a  great  moment  for  me,  as  I 
stood  there,  when,  between  the  budding 
branches  of  trees,  I  caught  sight  of  men 
in  dark  green  uniforms  coming  along  in 
twos  and  threes  to  take  up  their  position 
in  and  about  the  Green  and  at  the  cor- 
ners of  streets  leading  into  it.  There 
were  only  thirty-six  altogether,  whereas 
the  original  plan  had  been  for  a  hun- 
dred. That  was  one  of  the  first  effects 
of  Eoin  McNeill's  refusal  to  join  us. 
But  behind  them  I  could  see,  in  the 
spring  sunlight,  those  legions  of  Irish 
who  made  their  fight  against  as  heavy 
or  heavier  odds  and  who,  though  they 
died,  had  left  us  their  dream  to  make 
real.     Perhaps  this  time — 

At  last  all  the  men  were  standing 
96 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ready,  awaiting  the  signal.  In  every 
part  of  Dublin  similar  small  groups 
were  waiting  for  the  hour  to  strike. 
The  revolution  had  begun,! 


97 


VI 

TO  the  British,  I  am  told,  there  was 
something  uncanny  about  the  sud- 
denness with  which  the  important  cen- 
ters of  Dublin's  life  were  quietly  seized 
at  noon  on  Easter  Monday  by  groups  of 
calm,  determined  men  in  green  uni- 
forms. 

They  were  not  merely  surprised ;  they 
were  frightened.  The  superstitious  ele- 
ment in  their  fear  was  great,  too.  It 
had  always  been  so.  When  Kitchener 
was  drowned  off  the  Irish  coast,  a  man 
I  know,  an  Irishman,  spoke  of  it  to  an 
English  soldier. 

"Yes;  you  and  your  damned  rosa- 
ries!" retorted  the  soldier,  looking 
frightened  even  as  he  said  it. 

98 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

The  British  seem  to  feel  we  are  in 
league  with  unearthly  powers  against 
which  they  have  no  protection.  On 
Easter  Monday  they  believed  that 
behind  this  sudden  decision,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  them,  something  dark  and 
sinister  was  lurking.  How  else  would 
we  dare  to  revolt  against  the  British 
Empire?  It  was  as  if  our  men  were 
not  flesh  and  blood,  but  spirits  sum- 
moned up  by  their  own  bad  conscience 
to  take  vengeance  for  many  centuries  of 
misrule.  It  must  have  been  some  such 
feeling  that  accounted  for  the  way  they 
lost,  at  the  very  outset,  all  their  usual 
military  calm  and  ruthlessness. 

We  recognized  this  feeling,  and  it 
made  our  men  stronger  in  spirit.  We 
were  convinced  of  the  justice  of  our 
cause,  convinced  that  even  dying  was  a 
small  matter  compared  with  the  priv- 
ilege we  now  shared  of  fighting  for  that 
99 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

cause.  Besides,  there  was  no  traitor  in 
our  ranks.  No  one  had  whispered  a 
word  of  our  plans  to  the  British  author- 
ities. That  is  one  reason  why  our 
memory  of  Easter  Week  has  in  it  some- 
thing finer  than  the  memory  of  any 
other  rising  in  the  past.  You  must 
bear  in  mind  that  the  temptation  to 
betray  the  rising  must  have  been  just 
as  strong,  that  it  had  in  it  just  as  much 
guarantee  of  security  for  the  future,  as 
heretofore.  Yet  no  one  yielded  to  this 
temptation.  Even  more  amazing  was 
the  fact  that  the  authorities  had  not  paid 
any  heed  to  those  utterances  which  for 
months  past  had  been  highly  seditious. 
For  instance,  here  is  what  Padraic 
Pearse  stated  openly  in  one  of  his 
articles : 

I  am  ready.  For  years  I  have  waited  and 
prayed  for  this  day.  We  have  the  most  glori- 
ous opportunity  that  has  ever  presented  itself 

IOO 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

of  really  asserting  ourselves.  Such  an  oppor- 
tunity will  never  come  again.  We  have  Ire- 
land's liberty  in  our  hands.  Or  are  we  content 
to  remain  as  slaves  and  idly  watch  the  final  ex- 
termination of  the  Gael  ? 

Nothing  could  be  more  outspoken  or 
direct.  When  it  is  remembered  that 
England's  enemies  have  always  been 
regarded  as  Ireland's  allies;  that  an 
English  war,  wherever  fought,  is  a  sig- 
nal for  us  to  rise  once  more,  no  mat- 
ter how  many  defeats  we  have  suffered, 
it  might  have  been  supposed  the  British, 
stationed  in  such  numbers  in  and  around 
Dublin,  would  not  have  been  put  to  sleep 
by  what  must  have  seemed,  to  the  wary 
observer,  an  acute  attack  of  openness 
and  a  vigorous  interest  in  military 
affairs.  There  were  some,  of  course, 
among  the  police  and  officials  who  made 
their  reports  of  "highly  seditious"  meet- 
ings and  writings,  but  I  suppose  the 
101 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

authorities  did  not  believe  we  would 
strike.  From  America  they  learned  of 
aid  to  come  by  ship  when  Igel's  papers 
were  seized  by  United  States  authori- 
ties. It  may  have  been  this  information 
that  put  the  English  patrol-boats  on 
their  guard  in  Tralee  Harbor.  It  even 
may  have  been  thought  that  when  that 
ship  went  down  the  rising  was  automat- 
ically ended.  So  it  might  have  been 
had  our  revolt  been  "made  in  Germany," 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  was 
the  Irish  who  approached  the  Germans. 
Thus  there  was  no  anxiety  in  Dublin 
that  Easter  Monday  except  as  to  which 
horse  would  win  the  Fairview  races. 

As  soon  as  our  men  were  in  position 
in  St.  Stephen's  Green,  I  rode  off  down 
Leeson  Street  toward  the  Grand  Canal 
to  learn  if  the  British  soldiers  were  now 
leaving  Beggar's  Bush  or  the  Portobello 
barracks.  Everything  remained  quiet. 
102 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

That  signified  to  me  that  our  men  had 
taken  possession  of  the  post-office  for 
headquarters  and  of  all  other  premises 
decided  on  in  the  revised  plan  of  strategy 
adapted  to  a  much  smaller  army. 

The  names  of  these  places  do  not 
sound  martial.  Jacob's  Biscuit  Fac- 
tory, Boland's  Bakery,  Harcourt  Street 
Railway  Station,  and  Four  Courts  are 
common  enough,  but  each  had  been 
chosen  for  the  strategic  advantage  it 
would  give  those  defending  Dublin  with 
a  few  men  against  a  great  number. 
The  Dublin  &  Southeastern  Railway 
yards,  for  example,  gave  control  of  the 
approach  from  Kingstown  where,  it  was 
expected,  the  English  coming  over  to 
Ireland  would  land. 

Again  I  was  sent  out  to  learn  if  the 
Harcourt  Street  Station  had  been  occu- 
pied by  our  men.  This  had  been  done, 
and  already  telegraph  wires  there,  as 
103 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

well  as  elsewhere,  had  been  cut  to 
isolate  Dublin.  Telephone  wires  were 
cut,  too,  but  one  was  overlooked.  By 
that  wire  word  of  the  rising  reached 
London  much  sooner  than  otherwise 
would  have  been  the  case.  But  here 
again,  the  wonder  is  not  that  something 
had  been  overlooked,  but  that  so  much 
was  accomplished.  By  the  original 
plan,  volunteers  were  told  off  to  do  this 
wire-cutting  and  the  hundred  and  one 
things  necessary  to  a  revolt  taking  place 
in  a  city  like  Dublin.  When  this  work 
was  redistributed  to  one  third  the 
original  number  of  men,  it  was  hard  to 
be  certain  that  those  who  had  never 
drilled  for  the  kind  of  task  assigned 
them  could  do  it  at  all.  This  insurrec- 
tion had  been  all  but  rehearsed,  during 
those  months  when  it  was  being  worked 
out  on  paper,  by  daily  and  weekly  drills. 
Upon  my  return,  I  found  our  men 
104 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

intrenching  themselves  in  St.  Stephen's 
Green.  All  carried  tools  with  which  to 
dig  themselves  in,  and  shrubbery  was 
used  to  protect  the  trenches.  Motor- 
cars and  drays  passing  the  Green  were 
commandeered,  too,  to  form  a  barricade. 
Much  to  the  bewilderment  of  their  occu- 
pants, who  had  no  warning  that  any- 
thing was  amiss  in  Dublin,  the  men  in 
green  uniforms  would  signal  them  to 
stop.  Except  in  one  instance,  they  did 
so  quickly  enough.  Then  they  were 
told  to  get  out.  An  experienced  chauf- 
feur among  our  men  would  jump  in  at 
once  and  drive  the  car  to  a  position 
where  it  was  needed.  The  occupants 
would  stand  for  a  moment  aghast, 
then  take  to  their  heels.  One  drayman 
refused  his  cart  and  persisted  in  his 
refusal,  not  believing  it  when  our  men 
told  him  this  was  war.  He  was  shot. 
Two  British  officers  were  taken  prison- 
105 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ers  in  one  of  the  autos.  We  could  not 
afford  men  to  stand  guard  over  them, 
but  we  took  good  care  of  them.  After- 
ward they  paid  us  the  tribute  of  saying 
that  we  obeyed  all  the  rules  of  war. 

Commandant  Mallin  gave  me  my 
first  despatch  to  carry  to  headquarters 
at  the  general  post-office.  As  I  crossed 
O'Connell  Street,  I  had  to  ride  through 
great  crowds  of  people  who  had 
gathered  to  hear  Padraic  Pearse  read 
the'  proclamation  of  the  republic  at  the 
foot  of  Nelson's  Pillar.  They  had  to 
scatter  when  the  Fifth  Lancers — the 
first  of  the  military  forces  to  learn  that 
insurgents  had  taken  possession  of  the 
post-office — rode  in  among  them  to  at- 
tack the  post-office. 

Nothing  can  give  one  a  better  idea  of 

how  demoralized  the  British  were  by 

the  first  news  of  the  rising  than  to  learn 

that  they  sent  cavalry  to  attack  a  forti- 

106 


POBLACHT  NA  H  EIREANH. 

THE  PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT 

OF  THE 

IRISH    REPUBLIC 

to  ras  mm  or  isiuns. 

IRISHMEN  AND  IRISHWOMEN  In  the  name  of  God  and  of  the  dead  generations 
from  which  she  receives  her  old  tradition  of  nationhood.  Ireland,  through  us.  summons 
her  children  to  her  flag  and  strikes  for  her  freedom. 

Having  organised  and  trained  her  manhood  through  her  secret  revolutionary 
organisation,  the  Irish  Republican  Brotherhood,  and  through  her  open  military 
organisations,  the  Irish  Volunteers  and  the  Irish  Citizen  Army,  having  patiently 
perfected  her  discipline,  having  resolutely  waited  for  the  right  moment  to  reveal 
itself,  she  now  seizes  that  moment,  and.  supported  by  her  exiled  children  in  America 
and  by  gallant  allies  in  Europe,  but  relying  in  the  first  on  her  own  strength,  she 
6tnkes  in  full  confidence  of  victory. 

We  declare  the  right  of  the  people  of  Ireland  to  the  ownership  of  Ireland,  and  to 
the  unfettered  control  of  Irish  destinies,  to  be  sovereign  and  indefeasible.  The  long 
usurpation  of  that  right  by  a  foreign  peopie  and  government  has  not  extinguished  lbs 
right,  nor  can  u  ever  be  extinguished  except  by  the  destruction  of  the  Irish  people.  In 
every  generation  the  Irish  people  have  asserted  their  right  to  national  freedom  and 
sovereignty  .  six  times  during  the  past  three  hundred  years  they  have  asserted  it  in 
arms.  Standing  on  that  fundamental  right  and  again  asserting  it  in  arms  in  the  face 
of  the  world,  we  hereby  proclaim  the  Irish  Republic  as  a  Sovereign  Independent  State, 
and  wc  pledge  our  lives  and  the  lives  of  our  comrades-in-arms  to  the  cause  of  its  freedom, 
of  its  welfare,  and  of  its  exaltation  among  the  nations. 

The  Irish  Republic  is  entitled  to.  and  hereby  claims,  the  allegiance  of  every 
Irishman  and  Irishwoman.  The  Republic  guarantees  religious  and  civil  liberty,  equal 
rights  and  equal  opportunities  to  all  its  citizens,  ahd  declares  its  resolve  to  pursue 
the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  the  whole  nation  and  of  all  its  parts,  cherishing  all 
the  children  of  the  nation  equally,  and  oblivious  of  the  differences  carefully  fostered 
by  an  alien  government,  which  have  divided  a  minority  from  the  majority  in  the  past. 

Until  our  arms  have  brought  the  opportune  moment  for  the  establishment  of  a 
permanent  National  Government,  representative  of  the  whole  people  of  Ireland  and 
elected  by  the  suffrages  of  all  her  men  and  women,  the  Provisional  Government,  hereby 
constituted,  will  administer  the  civil  and  military  affairs  of  the  Republic  in  trust  for 
the  people. 

We  place  the  cause  of  the  Irish  Republic  under  tha  protection  of  the  Most  High  God. 
Whose  blessing  we  invoke  upon  our  arms,  and  we  pray  that  no  one  who  serves  that 
cause  will  dishonour  it  by  cowardice,  inhumanity,  or  rapine.  In  this  supreme  hour 
the  Irish  nation  must,  by  its  valour  and  discipline  and  by  the  readiness  of  its  children 
to  sacrifice  themselves  for  the  common  good,  prove  itself  worthyof  the  august  destiny 
to  which  it  is  called. 

Signed  on  Behalf  of  the  Provisional  Qovernment. 

THOMAS  J.  CLARKE. 

SEAN   Mac   DIARMADA.  THOMAS   MacDONAGH. 
P.  H.  PEARSE.  EAMONN  CEANNT, 

JAMES  CONNOLLY.  JOSEPH  PLUNKETT. 

THE    PROCLAMATION    OF    THE    IRISH    REPUBLIC 

(All  of  its  signers  were  executed) 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

fied  building.  Men  on  horseback  stood 
no  chance  against  rifle-fire  from  the 
windows  of  the  post-office.  It  must  be 
said  in  extenuation,  however,  that  it 
probably  was  because  this  cavalry  de- 
tachment had  just  convoyed  some  am- 
munition-wagons to  a  place  not  far  from 
O'Connell  Street,  and  so  were  sent  to 
"scatter"  men  who,  they  supposed,  could 
be  put  to  flight  by  the  mere  appearance 
of  regulars  on  horseback. 

When  I  reached  the  open  space  in 
front  of  the  post-office,  I  saw  two  or 
three  men  and  horses  lying  in  the  street, 
killed  by  the  first  volley  from  the  build- 
ing. It  was  several  days  before  these 
horses  were  taken  away,  and  there  was 
something  in  the  sight  of  the  dumb 
beasts  that  hurt  me  every  time  I  had  to 
pass  them.  It  may  sound  harsh  when  I 
say  that  the  thought  of  British  soldiers 
being  killed  in  the  same  way  did  not 
109 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

awaken  similar  feelings.  That  is  be- 
cause for  many  centuries  we  have  been 
harassed  by  men  in  British  uniform. 
They  have  become  to  us  symbols  of  a 
power  that  seems  to  delight  in  tyranny. 

Even  while  I  was  cycling  toward  the 
post-office,  the  crowd  had  reassembled 
to  watch  the  raising  of  the  flag  of 
the  Irish  Republic.  As  the  tricolor — 
green,  white,  and  orange — appeared 
above  the  roof  of  the  post-office,  a  salute 
was  fired.  A  few  days  later,  while  it 
was  still  waving,  James  Connolly  wrote : 
"For  the  first  time  in  seven  hundred 
years  the  flag  of  a  free  Ireland  floats 
triumphantly  over  Dublin  City !" 

Mr.  Connolly  and  a  few  of  his  officers 
came  out  to  look  at  it  as  it  waved  up 
there  against  the  sky.  I  saw  an  old 
woman  go  up  to  him  and,  bending  her 
knee,  kiss  his  hand.  Indeed,  the  people 
loved  and  trusted  him. 
no 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Inside  the  post-office  our  men  were 
busy  putting  things  to  right  after  the 
lancers'  attack.  They  were  getting 
ready  for  prolonged  resistance.  Win- 
dow-panes were  smashed,  and  barri- 
cades set  up  to  protect  men  who  soon 
would  be  shooting  from  behind  them. 
Provisions  were  brought  over  from 
Liberty  Hall,  where  they  had  long  been 
stored  against  this  day.  But  what  im- 
pressed me  most  was  the  way  the  men 
went  at  it,  as  though  this  was  the  usual 
sort  of  thing  to  be  doing  and  all  in  the 
day's  work.  There  was  no  sign  of  ex- 
citement, but  there  was  a  tenseness,  a 
sense  of  expectancy,  a  kind  of  exalta- 
tion, that  was  almost  more  than  I  could 
bear. 

I  delivered  my  despatch,  and  was 
given  another  to  carry  back  to  Com- 
mandant Mallin.  Crowds  were  still  in 
O'Connell  Street  when  I  left  on  my 
in 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

errand.  They  were  always  there  when 
bullets  were  not  flying,  and  always 
seemed  in  sympathy  with  the  men  in  the 
post-office.  I  found  this  same  sym- 
pathy all  over  the  city  wherever  I  went. 
Even  when  men  would  not  take  guns 
and  join  us,  they  were  friendly. 

The  soldiers  from  Portobello  bar- 
racks were  sent  out  twice  on  Monday  to 
attack  our  position  in  St.  Stephen's 
Green.  The  first  time  was  at  noon, 
before  we  were  completely  intrenched. 
They  had  gone  only  as  far  as  Portobello 
Bridge,  but  a  few  rods  from  the  bar- 
racks, when  they  were  fired  on  from  the 
roof  of  Davies's  public-house  just  the 
other  side  of  the  bridge.  Our  rifle-fire 
was  uninterrupted,  and  a  number  of  the 
soldiers  fell.  They  probably  thought 
they  were  dealing  with  a  considerable 
force,  for  they  did  not  advance  until  the 
firing  ceased  or  until  word  was  brought 
112 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

to  the  three  men  on  the  roof  that  we 
were  securely  intrenched.  Even  then 
they  did  not  come  on  to  attack  us,  but 
went  somewhere  else  in  the  city. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening,  just  when 
it  was  beginning  to  grow  dusk,  on  my 
way  back  from  the  post-office  I  noticed 
that  the  crowd  of  curious  civilians  who 
had  been  hanging  about  the  Green  all 
day  had  quite  disappeared.  The  next 
thing  I  saw  was  two  persons  hurrying 
away  from  the  Green.  These  were 
Town  Councilor  Partridge  and  the 
countess.  They  came  to  a  halt  in  the 
street  just  ahead  of  me.  Then  I  saw 
the  British  soldiers  coming  up  Har- 
court  Street! 

The  countess  stood  motionless,  wait- 
ing for  them  to  come  near.  She  was  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Irish  Volunteers  and, 
in  her  officer's  uniform  and  black  hat 
with  great  plumes,  looked  most  impres- 
113 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

sive.  At  length  she  raised  her  gun  to 
her  shoulder — it  was  an  "automatic" 
over  a  foot  long,  which  she  had  con- 
verted into  a  short  rifle  by  taking  out 
the  wooden  holster  and  using  it  as  a 
stock — and  took  aim.  Neither  she  nor 
Partridge  noticed  me  as  I  came  up  be- 
hind them.  I  was  quite  close  when  they 
fired.  The  shots  rang  out  at  the  same 
moment,  and  I  saw  the  two  officers  lead- 
ing the  column  drop  to  the  street.  As 
the  countess  was  taking  aim  again,  the 
soldiers,  without  firing  a  shot,  turned 
and  ran  in  great  confusion  for  their 
barracks.  The  whole  company  fled  as 
fast  as  they  could  from  two  people,  one 
of  them  a  woman!  When  you  con-i 
sider,  however,  that  for  years  these 
soldiers  had  been  going  about  Dublin 
as  if  they  owned  it;  that  now  they  did 
not  know  from  what  house  or  street 
corner  they  might  be  fired  upon  by  men 
114 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

in  green  uniforms,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  they  were  temporarily 
demoralized. 

As  we  went  back  to  the  Green,  Madam 
told  me  of  the  attempt  made  that  morn- 
ing by  herself,  Sean  Connolly,  and  ten 
others  to  enter  Dublin  Castle  and  plant 
the  flag  of  the  Irish  republic  on  the  roof 
of  that  stronghold  of  British  power  in 
Ireland.  There  always  is  a  consider- 
able military  force  housed  in  the  castle, 
but  so  completely  were  they  taken  by 
surprise  that  for  a  few  moments  it 
seemed  as  if  the  small  group  would  suc- 
ceed in  entering.  It  was  only  when 
their  leader,  Sean  Connolly,  was  shot 
dead  that  the  attempt  was  abandoned. 
It  seemed  to  me  particularly  fitting  that 
Madam  had  been  a  member  of  this 
party,  for  she  belonged  by  "right  of 
birth"  to  those  who  always  were  invited 
to  social  affairs  at  the  castle.  Yet  she 
ii5 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

had  long  refused  to  accept  these  invita- 
tions, and  had.  taken  the  side  of  those 
who  hoped  for  the  ultimate  withdrawal 
of  those  Dublin  Castle  hosts. 

Immediately  after  this  gallant  at- 
tempt, which  might  have  succeeded  had 
it  taken  place  on  Sunday  with  the  num- 
ber of  men  originally  intended,  Madam 
returned  to  St.  Stephen's  Green  and 
alone  and  single-handed  took  possession 
of  the  College  of  Surgeons.  This  is  a 
big,  square,  granite  building  on  the  west 
side  of  the  Green.  It  was,  as  we  later 
discovered,  impregnable.  For  all  im- 
pression they  made,  the  machine-gun 
bullets  with  which  the  British  soldiers 
peppered  it  for  five  days  might  have 
been  dried  peas. 

The  countess,  fortunately,  had  met 

with  no  resistance.     She  walked  up  the 

steps,  rang  the  bell,  and,  when  no  one 

answered,    fired    into    the    lock    and 

116 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

entered.  The  flag  we  flew  from  the 
roof  of  the  building  was  a  small  one  I 
had  brought  on  my  bicycle  from  head- 
quarters. 


117 


VII 

WE  were  all  happy  that  night  as 
we  camped  in  St.  Stephen's 
Green.  Despite  the  handicap  we  were 
under  through  lack  of  men,  almost 
everything  was  going  our  way.  It  was 
a  cold,  damp  night.  The  first-aid  and 
despatch-girls  of  our  command  went 
into  a  summer-house  for  shelter.  It 
had  no  walls,  but  there  was  a  floor  to 
lie  upon,  and  a  roof.  I  slept  at  once  and 
slept  heavily. 

Madam  was  not  so  fortunate.  She 
was  too  tired  and  excited  to  sleep.  In- 
stead, she  walked  about,  looking  for 
some  sheltered  place  and,  to  get  out  of 
the  wind,  tried  lying  down  in  one  of  the 
trenches.  But  the  ground  was  much 
118 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

too  chilly,  so  she  walked  about  until  she 
noticed  the  motor-car  of  her  friend,  Dr. 
Katherine  Lynn,  seized  that  morning 
for  the  barricade.  She  climbed  in, 
found  a  rug,  and  went  to  sleep  in  com- 
parative comfort.  When  morning  came 
she  could  not  forgive  herself  for  having 
slept  there  all  night  while  the  rest  of  us 
remained  outdoors.  She  had  intended 
to  get  up  after  an  hour  or  two  of  it  and 
make  one  of  us  take  her  place.  She  did 
not  waken,  however,  till  she  heard  the 
hailing  of  machine-gun  bullets  on  the 
roof  of  the  car.  The  girls  in  the  sum- 
mer-house, with  the  exception  of  my- 
self, were  awakened  at  the  same  moment 
in  the  same  way,  and  ran  for  safety 
behind  one  of  the  embankments.  It 
seems  the  British  had  taken  possession 
of  a  hotel  at  one  side  of  the  Green — the 
Hotel  Shelbourne — and  had  placed  a 
machine-gun  on  the  roof.  At  four 
119 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

o'clock  in  the  morning  they  began  fir- 
ing. 

The  chill  I  was  having  woke  me,  but 
I  quickly  followed  the  others  to  their 
hiding-place.  From  the  first  we  were 
aware  that  had  we  taken  possession  of 
all  buildings  around  the  Green,  accord- 
ing to  our  original  plan,  this  morning 
salute  of  the  British  would  have  been 
impossible.  As  it  was,  our  intrench- 
ments  and  barricades  proved  of  no  avail. 
We  realized  at  once  we  should  have  to 
evacuate  the  Green  and  retire  into  the 
College  of  Surgeons. 

Commandant  Mallin  sent  me  with  a 
despatch  to  headquarters.  He  recog- 
nized immediately  that  a  regiment  could 
not  hold  the  Green  against  a  machine- 
gun  on  a  tall  building  that  could  rake 
our  position  easily. 

As  soon  as  I  returned,  I  was  sent  away 
again  to  bring  in  sixteen  men  guarding 
1 20 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  Leeson  Street  bridge.  If  we  aban- 
doned the  Green  before  they  could  join 
us,  they  would  be  cut  off  and  in  great 
danger.  As  I  rode  along  on  my  bicycle, 
I  had  my  first  taste  of  the  risks  of  street- 
fighting.  Soldiers  on  top  of  the  Hotel 
Shelbourne  aimed  their  machine-gun 
directly  at  me.  Bullets  struck  the 
wooden  rim  of  my  bicycle  wheels, 
puncturing  it;  others  rattled  on  the 
metal  rim  or  among  the  spokes.  I  knew 
one  might  strike  me  at  any  moment,  so 
I  rode  as  fast  as  I  could.  My  speed 
saved  my  life,  and  I  was  soon  out  of 
range  around  a  corner.  I  was  not 
exactly  frightened  nor  did  I  feel  aware 
of  having  shown  any  special  courage. 
My  anxiety  for  the  men  I  was  to  bring 
in  filled  my  mind,  for  though  I  was  out 
of  range,  unless  we  could  find  a  round- 
about way  to  the  College  of  Surgeons 
seventeen  of  us  would  be  under  fire. 
121 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  men  were 
on  foot. 

After  I  reached  this  group  and  gave 
the  order  for  their  return,  I  scouted 
ahead  up  streets  I  knew  would  bring  us 
back  safely  to  the  college,  unless  already 
guarded  by  the  British.  It  was  while 
I  was  riding  ahead  of  them  that  I  had 
fresh  evidence  of  the  friendliness  of  the 
people.  Two  men  presently  approached 
me.  They  stepped  out  into  the  street 
and  said  quietly: 

"All  is  safe  ahead/' 

I  rode  back,  told  the  guard,  and  we 
moved  on  more  rapidly.  At  another 
spot  a  woman  leaned  out  of  her  window 
just  as  I  was  passing.  "You  are  losing 
your  revolver/'  she  called  to  me. 

She  may  have  saved  my  life  by  that 
warning,  for  my  revolver  had  torn  its 
way  through  the  pocket  of  my  raincoat, 
and,  in  another  moment,  would  have 

122 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

fallen  to  the  ground.  Had  it  been  dis- 
charged, the  result  might  have  been 
fatal. 

As  we  came  to  the  College  of  Sur- 
geons and  were  going  in  by  a  side  door, 
the  men  were  just  retiring  from  the 
Green.  Since  every  moment  counted,  I 
had  ridden  ahead  to  report  to  Com- 
mandant Mallin,  and  while  he  stood 
listening  to  me,  a  bullet  whizzed  through 
his  hat.  He  took  it  off,  looked  at  it 
without  comment,  and  put  it  on  again. 
Evidently  the  machine-gun  was  still  at 
work. 

One  of  our  boys  was  killed  before  we 
got  inside  the  College  of  Surgeons. 
Had  the  British  gunners  been  better 
trained  for  their  task,  we  might  have 
lost  more,  for  we  were  completely  at 
their  mercy  from  the  moment  they  began 
to  fire  at  dawn  until  the  big  door  of  the 
college  closed,  and  we  took  up  the  de- 
123 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

fense  of  our  new  position  in  the  great 
stone  fortress. 

Every  time  I  left  the  college,  I  was 
forced  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  this 
machine-gun.  I  blessed  the  enemy's 
bad  marksmanship  several  times  a  day. 
To  be  sure,  they  tried  hard  enough  to 
hit  something..  Once  that  day  I  saw 
them  shooting  at  our  first-aid  girls,  who 
made  excellent  targets  in  their  white 
dresses,  with  large  red  crosses  on  them. 
It  was  a  miracle  that  none  of  them  was 
wounded.  Bullets  passed  through  one 
girl's  skirt,  and  another  girl  had  the  heel 
of  her  shoe  shot  off.  If  I  myself  had 
not  seen  this  happen,  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  British  soldiers  would  dis- 
obey the  rules  of  war  concerning  the 
Red  Cross. 

Mr.  Connolly  had  issued  orders  that 
no  soldier  was  to  be  shot  who  did  not 
have  arms,  and  he  did  not  consider  the 
124 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

side-arms  they  always  carried  as 
"arms."  My  revolver  had  been  given 
me  for  self-defense  in  case  I  fell  into 
the  hands  of  any  soldiers.  I  confess 
that,  though  I  never  used  it,  I  often  felt 
tempted  when  I  saw  British  soldiers 
going  along  in  twos  and  threes,  bent  on 
shooting  any  of  our  men.  I  was  not  in 
uniform,  however,  and  had  had  orders 
not  to  shoot  except  thus  clothed  and  so 
a  member  of  the  Republican  Army. 

Some  of  the  streets  I  had  to  ride 
through  were  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  if 
there  was  no  thought  of  revolution  in 
Dublin,  but  in  others  I  could  hear  now 
and  then  scattered  shots  from  around 
some  corner.  It  was  more  than  likely 
that  snipers  were  trying  to  hold  up  a 
force  of  British  on  their  way  to  attack 
one  of  our  main  positions.  Sometimes 
I  would  hear  the  rattle  of  a  machine- 
gun,  and  this  warned  me  that  I  was 
125 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

approaching  a  house  where  the  enemy 
was  raking  a  position  held  by  our  men. 
Generally,  however,  it  was  the  complete 
and  death-like  emptiness  of  a  street  that 
warned  me  I  was  close  to  a  scene  of  hot 
fighting.  This  was  not  always  so,  for 
there  were  times  when  the  curiosity  of 
the  crowd  got  the  better  of  its  caution, 
and  it  would  push  dangerously  near  the 
shooting. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  the  people 
of  Dublin  became  fully  aware  of  the 
meaning  of  what  was  going  on.  Riots 
are  not  rare,  and  this  might  well  seem 
to  many  of  them  only  rioting  on  a 
large  scale,  with  some  new  and  interest- 
ing features.  The  poor  of  Dublin  have 
never  been  appeased  with  bread  or  cir- 
cuses by  the  British  authorities.  They 
have  had  to  be  content  with  starvation 
and  an  occasional  street  disturbance. 
But  little  bv  little,  as  I  rode  along,  I 
126 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

could  detect  a  change  in  attitude.  Some 
became  craven  and  disappeared;  in 
others,  it  seemed  that  at  last  their  souls 
might  come  out  of  hiding  and  face  the 
day. 

The  spirit  at  the  post-office  was 
always  the  same — quiet,  cheerful,  and 
energetic.  I  used  to  stand  at  the  head 
of  the  great  central  staircase  waiting 
for  answers  to  my  despatches  and  could 
see  the  leaders  as  they  went  to  and  fro 
through  the  corridor.  Padraic  Pearse 
impressed  me  by  his  natural  air  of  com- 
mand. He  was  serious,  but  not  trou- 
bled, not  even  when  he  had  to  ask  for 
men  from  the  Citizen  Army  to  eke  out 
the  scant  numbers  of  his  Volunteers  for 
some  expedition.  No  one  had  thought 
it  would  be  that  way,  for  the  Volunteers 
were  originally  two  to  one  compared 
with  the  Citizen  Army.  Recruits  were 
coming  in  every  day,  but  at  the  most 
127 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

there  were  not  fifteen  hundred  men 
against  twenty  thousand  British  sol- 
diers stationed  in  or  near  Dublin. 

Whenever  there  came  a  lull  in  busi- 
ness or  righting,  the  men  would  begin  to 
sing  either  rebel  songs  or  those  old  lays 
dear  to  Irishmen  the  world  over.  And 
sometimes  they  knelt  in  prayer,  Prot- 
estants and  Catholics  side  by  side. 
From  the  very  beginning  there  was  a 
sense  of  the  religious  character  in  what 
we  were  doing.  This  song  and  prayer 
at  the  post-office  were  all  natural,  devoid 
of  self-consciousness.  A  gay  song 
would  follow  a  solemn  prayer,  and 
somehow  was  not  out  of  harmony  with 
it. 

One  source  of  inspiration  at  the  post- 
office  was  "old  Tom  Clarke/'  who  had 
served  fifteen  years  for  taking  part  in 
the  rising  of  sixty-seven.  His  pale, 
worn  face  showed  the  havoc  wrought 
128 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

by  that  long  term  in  an  English  prison, 
but  his  spirit  had  not  been  broken. 

There  was  Jo  Plunkett,  too,  pale  and 
weak,  having  come  directly  from  the 
hospital  where  he  had  just  undergone 
an  operation.  But  he  knew  what  pres- 
tige his  name  would  lend  to  this  move- 
ment— a  name  famous  for  seven  hun- 
dred years  in  Irish  history.  He  looked 
like  death,  and  he  met  death  a  few  days 
later  at  the  hands  of  the  English. 

I  talked  about  explosives  one  day  with 
Sean  McDermott  and  we  went  together 
to  consult  a  wounded  chemist  in  a  rear 
room  to  find  out  what  could  be  done  with 
chemicals  we  had  found  at  the  College 
of  Surgeons.  Sean  McDermott  was 
like  a  creature  from  another  planet  who 
had  brought  his  radiance  with  him  to 
this  one.  Every  one  felt  this  and  loved 
him  for  the  courage  and  sweetness  he 
put  into  all  he  did. 

129 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

The  O'Rahilly  was  another  of  the 
striking  figures  at  the  post-office.  He 
was  known  as  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  in  Ireland,  and,  in  addition  to  being 
head  of  a  famous  old  clan,  had  large 
estates.  He  had  given  much  property 
to  the  cause,  and  now  was  risking  his 
life  for  it.  He  was  killed  on  the  last 
day  of  the  fighting  as  he  led  a  sortie  into 
the  street  at  one  side  of  the  post-office. 
His  last  words  were,  "Good-by  and 
good  luck  to  you!"  He  said  those 
words  to  British  prisoners  he  was  set- 
ting free  because  the  post-office  had 
caught  fire  and  the  game  was  up.  They 
afterward  told  of  his  kindness  and  care 
for  them  at  a  moment  when  he  himself 
was  in  the  greatest  possible  danger. 

I  can  pass  anywhere  for  a   Scotch 

girl,— I   have   often  had  to   since  the 

rising, — and  friends  will  tell  you  I  am 

hard-headed  and  practical,  without  the 

130 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

least  trace  of  mysticism.  Yet,  when- 
ever I  was  in  general  headquarters  in 
the  post-office,  I  felt,  despite  common- 
place surroundings  and  the  din  of  fight- 
ing, an  exalted  calm  that  can  be  possible 
only  where  men  are  giving  themselves 
unreservedly  and  with  clear  conscience 
to  a  great  cause. 


131 


VIII 

SINGING  "Soldiers  are  we  whose 
lives  are  pledged  to  Ireland,"  we 
had  withdrawn  from  St.  Stephen's 
Green  into  the  College  of  Surgeons. 
Only  one  of  our  men  had  been  killed,  yet 
this  was  a  retreat,  and  we  knew  it.  If 
only  we  had  had  enough  men  to  take 
possession  of  the  Shelbourne  Hotel,  we 
need  not  have  yielded  the  Green.  As  it 
was,  we  wasted  no  time  in  mourning, 
but  went  to  work  at  once  to  make  our- 
selves ready  for  a  siege  that  might  last 
no  one  knew  how  long. 

Under    orders     from     Commandant 
Mallin,  some  of  the  men  began  to  cut 
through  the  walls  into  adjoining  build- 
ings.    Others  went  up  on  the  roof  to 
132 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

use  their  rifles  against  the  British  sol- 
diers on  top  of  the  Shelbourne.  Madam 
went  about  everywhere,  seeking  to  find 
anything  that  could  be  of  use  to  us. 
She  discovered  sixty-seven  rifles,  with 
fifteen  thousand  rounds  of  cartridges; 
also  bandoliers  and  haversacks.  All 
this  had  belonged,  no  doubt,  to  the  train- 
ing corps  of  the  College  of  Surgeons, 
and  would  have  been  used  against  us  had 
we  not  reached  the  building  first. 

On  the  ground  floor  of  the  big  build- 
ing were  lecture-rooms  and  a  museum; 
up-stairs  other  class-rooms,  laborator- 
ies, and  the  library.  On  the  third  floor 
were  the  caretaker's  rooms  and  a  kitchen 
where  our  first-aid  and  despatch-girls 
took  possession  and  cooked  for  the 
others  as  long  as  anything  remained  to 
cook.  Lastly  came  the  garret  up  under 
the  roof.  To  shoot  from  the  roof  itself 
quickly  became  impossible,  since  our 
133 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

men  were  easy  targets  for  the  gunners 
on  the  Shelbourne.  As  soon  as  one  of 
our  boys  was  wounded,  we  knew  they 
had  our  range,  and  decided  to  cut  holes 
through  and  directly  under  the  sloping 
roof.  Here  we  could  shoot  in  perfect 
safety  while  remaining  unseen. 

On  Wednesday  there  was  little  des- 
patch-bearing to  do,  so  I  stood  around 
watching  the  men  up  there  at  work. 
The  countess  realized  my  impatience  to 
be  doing  my  bit,  also  my  hesitation  at 
putting  myself  forward  to  ask  for  per- 
mission. Without  saying  anything  to 
me,  she  went  to  Commandant  Mallin 
and  told  him  she  thought  I  could  be  of 
use  under  the  roof.  He  gave  his  per- 
mission at  once,  and  she  brought  me  the 
answer. 

Madam  had  had  a  fine  uniform  of 
green  moleskin  made  for  me.  With 
her  usual  generosity,  she  had  mine  made 
134 


RELT    BUCKLE 


'["711x1 


STAMPS   ISSUED   BY  THE   IRISH   REPUBLIC 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

of  better  material  than  her  own.  It 
consisted  of  kneebreeches,  belted  coat, 
and  puttees.  I  slipped  into  this  uni- 
form, climbed  up  astride  the  rafters, 
and  was  assigned  a  loophole  through 
which  to  shoot.  It  was  dark  there,  full 
of  smoke  and  the  din  of  firing,  but  it  was 
good  to  be  in  action.  I  could  look  across 
the  tops  of  trees  and  see  the  British  sol- 
diers on  the  roof  of  the  Shelbourne.  I 
could  also  hear  their  shot  hailing  against 
the  roof  and  wall  of  our  fortress,  for  in 
truth  this  building  was  just  that.  More 
than  once  I  saw  the  man  I  aimed  at  fall. 
To  those  who  have  been  following  the 
Great  War,  reading  of  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  attacking  one 
another  in  open  battle  or  in  mile-long 
trench-warfare,  this  exchange  of  shots 
between  two  buildings  across  a  Dublin 
green  may  seem  petty.  But  to  us  there 
could  be  nothing  greater.     Every  shot 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

we  fired  was  a  declaration  to  the  world 
that  Ireland,  a  small  country  but  large 
in  our  hearts,  was  demanding  her  inde- 
pendence. We  knew  that  all  over  Dub- 
lin, perhaps  by  this  time  all  over  Ireland, 
other  groups  like  ours  were  filled  with 
the  same  intensity,  the  same  determina- 
tion, to  make  the  Irish  Republic,  no 
matter  how  short-lived,  a  reality  of 
which  history  would  have  to  take 
account.  Besides,  the  longer  we  could 
keep  our  tricolor  flying  over  the  College 
of  Surgeons,  the  greater  the  chance  that 
Irish  courage  would  respond  and  we 
should  gain  recruits. 

Whenever  I  was  called  down  to  carry 
a  despatch,  I  took  off  my  uniform,  put 
on  my  gray  dress  and  hat,  and  went  out 
the  side  door  of  the  college  with  my  mes- 
sage. As  soon  as  I  returned,  I  slipped 
back  into  my  uniform  and  joined  the 
firing-squad. 

138 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

There  were  a  good  many  of  the 
Fianna  boys  in  the  college  with  us.  As 
usual,  their  allegiance  to  Madam  would 
not  let  them  leave  her.  One  of  them, 
Tommie  Keenan  of  Camden  Row,  was 
only  twelve  years  old,  but  was  invalu- 
able. He  would  go  out  for  food  and 
medicine  and,  because  he  was  so  little, 
never  attracted  attention,  though  he 
wore  his  green  Fianna  shirt  under  his 
jacket.  On  Tuesday  he  came  to  the 
conclusion,  perhaps  with  Madam's  aid, 
that  he  ought  to  go  home  and  tell  his  par- 
ents what  he  was  doing.  Comman- 
dant Mallin  advised  him,  just  before  he 
left,  to  take  off  his  green  shirt  and  not 
wear  it  again  for  a  while.  It  was  a  day 
or  more  before  he  returned,  because  his 
father  had  locked  him  in  his  room.  We 
sympathized  with  the  father,  for  that 
was  just  what  we  had  expected  him  to 
do.  But  when  a  friend  came  along  who 
139 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

promised  to  keep  guard  over  Tommy  if 
he  was  allowed  to  go  for  a  walk,  the 
boy's  chance  came.  Eluding  this  friend, 
he  ran  the  most  roundabout  way  until 
he  arrived  where  he  felt  "duty"  called 
him. 

The  boy  already  referred  to  as  nearly 
blind  was  with  us,  too.  He  pleaded  so 
hard  to  be  allowed  to  use  a  rifle  that  the 
men  finally  put  him  at  a  loophole,  where 
he  breathlessly  fired  shot  after  shot  in 
the  direction  of  the  hotel.  Maybe  the 
prayers  he  murmured  gave  him  suc- 
cess. 

Our  rations  were  short,  but  I  do  not 
remember  that  any  one  complained.  I 
for  one  had  no  appetite  for  more  than  a 
slice  of  bread  or  two  a  day,  with  a  cup 
of  bouillon  made  from  the  cubes  laid  in 
as  part  of  our  necessary  ration.  The 
two  captured  British  officers  had  their 
meals  regularly  whether  any  one  else 
140 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ate  or   not,   and  seemed  grateful   for 
it. 

Every  evening  fighting  would  quiet 
down,  and  the  boys  and  men — about  a 
hundred,  now,  through  recruits  who  had 
joined  us — would  gather  in  the  largest 
lecture-hall  to  sing  under  the  leadership 
of  Jo  Connolly,  whose  brother  Sean  had 
fallen  the  first  day  in  front  of  Dublin 
Castle.     I  can  hear  them  even  now : 

"Armed  for  the  battle, 
Kneel  we  before  Thee, 
Bless  Thou  our  banners, 
God  of  the  brave! 
'Ireland  is  living' — 
Shout  we  triumphant, 
'Ireland  is  waking — 
Hands  grasp  the  sword  !'  " 

They  were  singing  this  chant,  written 
by  the  countess  and  set  to  some  Polish 
revolutionary  air,  on  Wednesday  even- 
ing.    I  was  up-stairs,  studying  a  map  of 
141 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

our  surroundings  and  trying  to  find  a 
way  by  which  we  could  dislodge  the 
soldiers  from  the  roof  of  the  Hotel 
Shelbourne.  When  Commandant  Mal- 
lin  came  in,  I  asked  him  if  he  would  let 
me  go  out  with  one  man  and  try  to  throw 
a  bomb  attached  to  an  eight-second  fuse 
through  the  hotel  window.  I  knew 
there  was  a  bow-window  on  the  side 
farthest  from  us,  which  was  not  likely 
to  be  guarded.  We  could  use  our 
bicycles  and  get  away  before  the  bomb 
exploded, — that  is,  if  we  were  quick 
enough.  At  any  rate,  it  was  worth  try- 
ing, whatever  the  risk. 

Commandant  Mallin  agreed  the  plan 
was  a  good  one,  but  much  too  danger- 
ous. I  pointed  out  to  him  that  it  had 
been  my  speed  which  had  saved  me  so 
far  from  machine-gun  fire  on  the  hotel 
roof.  It  was  not  that  the  British  were 
doing  us  any  real  harm  in  the  college, 
142 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

but  it  was  high  time  to  take  the  aggres- 
sive, for  success  would  hearten  the  men 
in  other  "forts"  who  were  not  having  as 
safe  a  time  of  it.  He  finally  agreed, 
though  not  at  all  willingly,  for  he  did 
not  want  to  let  a  woman  run  this  sort  of 
risk.  My  answer  to  that  argument  was 
that  we  had  the  same  right  to  risk  our 
lives  as  the  men ;  that  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Irish  Republic,  women  were  on  an 
equality  with  men.  For  the  first  time  in 
history,  indeed,  a  constitution  had  been 
written  that  incorporated  the  principle 
of  equal  suffrage.  But  the  Command- 
ant told  me  there  was  another  task  to  be 
accomplished  before  the  hotel  could  be 
bombed.  That  was  to  cut  off  the  retreat 
of  a  British  force  which  had  planted  a 
machine-gun  on  the  flat  roof  of  Univer- 
sity Church.  It  was  against  our  rules 
to  use  any  church,  Protestant  or  Cath- 
olic, in  our  defense,  no  matter  what  ad- 
143 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

vantage  that  might  give  us.  But  this 
church,  close  at  hand,  had  been  occu- 
pied by  the  British  and  was  cutting  us 
off  from  another  command  with  whom 
it  was  necessary  to  keep  in  communica- 
tion. In  order  to  cut  off  the  retreat  of 
these  soldiers,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
burn  two  buildings.  I  asked  the  Com- 
mandant to  let  me  help  in  this  undertak- 
ing. He  consented,  and  gave  me  four 
men  to  help  fire  one  building,  while 
another  party  went  out  to  fire  the  other. 
It  meant  a  great  deal  to  me  that  he 
should  trust  me  with  this  piece  of  work, 
and  I  felt  elated.  While  I  changed  once 
more  into  my  uniform,  for  the  work  of 
war  can  only  be  done  by  those  who  wear 
its  dress,  I  could  still  hear  them  singing: 

"Who  fights  for  Ireland, 
God  guide  his  blows  home ! 
Who  dies  for  Ireland, 
God  give  him  peace ! 
144 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Knowing  our  cause  just, 
March  we  victorious, 
Giving  our  hearts'  blood 
Ireland  to  free !" 


145 


IX 

IT  took  only  a  few  moments  to  reach 
the  building  we  were  to  set  afire. 
Councilor  Partridge  smashed  the  glass 
door  in  the  front  of  a  shop  that  occupied 
the  ground  floor.  He  did  it  with  the 
butt  of  his  rifle  and  a  flash  followed.  It 
had  been  discharged!  I  rushed  past 
him  into  the  doorway  of  the  shop,  call- 
ing to  the  others  to  come  on.  Behind 
me  came  the  sound  of  a  volley,  and  I  fell. 
It  was  as  I  had  on  the  instant  divined. 
That  flash  had  revealed  us  to  the  enemy. 
"It 's  all  over/'  I  muttered,  as  I  felt 
myself  falling.  But  a  moment  later, 
when  I  knew  I  was  not  dead,  I  was  sure 
I  should  pull  through.  Before  another 
volley  could  be  fired,  Mr.  Partridge 
146 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

lifted  and  carried  me  into  the  street. 
There  on  the  sidewalk  lay  a  dark  figure 
in  a  pool  of  blood.  It  was  Fred  Ryan,  a 
mere  lad  of  seventeen,  who  had  wanted 
to  come  with  us  as  one  of  the  party  of 
four. 

"We  must  take  him  along/'  I  said. 

But  it  was  no  use;  he  was  dead. 

With  help,  I  managed  to  walk  to  the 
corner.  Then  the  other  man  who  had 
stopped  behind  to  set  the  building  afire 
caught  up  with  us.  Between  them  they 
succeeded  in  carrying  me  back  to  the 
College  of  Surgeons. 

As  we  came  into  the  vestibule,  Jo  Con- 
nolly was  waiting  with  his  bicycle,  ready 
to  go  out  with  me  to  bomb  the  hotel. 
His  surprise  at  seeing  me  hurt  was  as 
if  I  had  been  out  for  a  stroll  upon  peace- 
ful streets  and  met  with  an  accident. 

They  laid  me  on  a  large  table  and  cut 
away  the  coat  of  my  fine,  new  uniform. 
i47 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

I  cried  over  that.  Then  they  found  I 
had  been  shot  in  three  places,  my  right 
side  under  the  arm,  my  right  arm,  and  in 
the  back  on  my  right  side.  Had  I  not 
turned  as  I  went  through  that  shop- 
door  to  call  to  the  others,  I  would  have 
got  all  three  bullets  in  my  back  and 
lungs  and  surely  been  done  for. 

They  had  to  probe  several  times  to  get 
the  bullets,  and  all  the  while  Madam 
held  my  hand.  But  the  probing  did  not 
hurt  as  much  as  she  expected  it  would. 
My  disappointment  at  not  being  able  to 
bomb  the  Hotel  Shelbourne  was  what 
made  me  unhappy.  They  wanted  to 
send  me  to  the  hospital  across  the  Green, 
but  I  absolutely  refused  to  go.  So  the 
men  brought  in  a  cot,  and  the  first-aid 
girls  bandaged  me,  as  there  was  no  get- 
ting a  doctor  that  night.  What  really 
did  distress  me  was  my  cough  and  the 
pain  in  my  chest.  When  I  tried  to  keep 
148 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

from  coughing,  I  made  a  queer  noise  in 
my  throat  and  noticed  every  one  around 
me  look  frightened. 

"It 's  no  death-rattle,"  I  explained, 
and  they  all  had  to  laugh, — that  is,  all 
laughed  except  Commandant  Mallin. 
He  said  he  could  not  forgive  himself  as 
long  as  he  lived  for  having  let  me  go 
out  on  that  errand.  But  he  did  not  live 
long,  poor  fellow !  I  tried  to  cheer  him 
by  pointing  out  that  he  had  in  reality 
saved  my  life,  since  the  bombing  plan 
was  much  more  dangerous. 

Soon  after  I  was  brought  in,  the 
countess  and  Councilor  Partridge  dis- 
appeared. When  she  returned  to  me, 
she  said  very  quietly: 

"You  are  avenged,  my  dear." 

It  seems  they  had  gone  out  to  where 
Fred  Ryan  lay,  and  Partridge,  to  at- 
tract the  fire  of  the  soldiers  across  the 
street  in  the  Sinn  Fein  Bank,  had 
149 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

stooped  over  the  dead  boy  to  lift  him. 
There  were  only  two  soldiers  and  they 
both  fired.  That  gave  Madam  a  chance 
to  sight  them.  She  fired  twice  and 
killed  both. 

They  tell  me  that  all  next  day  I  was 
delirious  and  lay  moaning  and  talking 
incoherently.  It  was  not  the  bullets 
that  brought  me  to  this  pass,  but  pneu- 
monia. Even  so  I  am  glad  I  was  there 
and  not  at  a  hospital.  Later  a  doctor 
who  was  summoned  made  the  mistake  of 
using  too  much  corrosive  sublimate  on 
my  wounds,  and  for  once  I  knew  what 
torture  is.  The  mistake  took  all  the 
skin  off  my  side  and  back.  But  Madam 
is  a  natural  nurse.  Among  her  friends 
she  was  noted  for  her  desire  to  care  for 
them  if  they  fell  ill.  Some  one  was  al- 
most always  in  bed  at  Surrey  House; 
some  friend  whose  eyes  might  be  trou- 
bling her  to  whom  the  countess  would 
150 


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4»m,nja.ri*rt.J«f         V   /t.««,  of.  »V.3r.«Vlf«b«aV«     .n. 

hearse's  last  proclamation 

Written  under  shell  and  shrapnel  fire.       (His  marvelous  hand- 
writing is  due  to  his  mastery  of  the  Gaelic  script) 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

read  aloud  or  apply  soothing  applica- 
tions ;  a  Fianna  boy,  or  an  actress  from 
the  Abbey  Theater  who  needed  to  build 
up  her  nerves.  Thus  I  was  in  good 
hands,  and  besides,  following  my  in- 
stinct, I  ate  nothing  for  the  next  three 
days,  but  drank  quantities  of  water. 

Once  a  day  they  allowed  me  visitors. 
Every  one  who  came  to  my  room  was 
confident  that  things  were  going  well. 
That  we  were  isolated  from  other 
"forts"  and  even  from  headquarters  did 
not  necessarily  mean  they  were  losing 
ground.  We  were  holding  out,  and  our 
spirits  rose  high.  We  believed,  too, 
that  by  this  time  the  Volunteers  outside 
Dublin  had  risen.  We  could  not  know 
that,  even  where  they  had  joined  the 
rising  on  Easter  Monday,  the  loss  of 
one  day  had  given  the  British  enough 
time  to  be  on  guard,  so  that  in  no 
instance  could  our  men  enter  the  bar- 
153 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

racks  and  seize  arms  as  originally 
planned. 

While  I  lay  there,  I  could  hear  the 
booming  of  big  guns.  All  of  us  be- 
lieved it  was  the  Germans  attacking  the 
British  on  the  water.  There  had  been 
a  rumor  that  German  submarines  would 
come  into  the  fight  if  they  learned  there 
was  a  chance  of  our  winning  it.  I  had 
heard  that  report  the  evening  before  the 
rising.  Edmond  Kent,  one  of  the  re- 
publican leaders,  had  been  most  confi- 
dent of  our  success,  and  when  a  friend 
asked  him,  "What  if  the  British  bring 
up  their  big  guns?"  he  replied: 

"The  moment  they  bring  up  their  big 
guns,  we  win." 

He  did  not  explain  what  he  meant  by 
this,  but  I  took  it  that  he  expected  out- 
side aid  the  minute  the  British,  rec- 
ognizing our  revolt  as  serious,  gave  us 
the  dignity  of  combatants  by  using 
154 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

heavy  artillery  against  us.  Whatever 
he  meant,  the  fact  remains  that  when 
they  took  this  action,  they  made  us  a 
"belligerent"  in  the  world's  eyes  and 
gave  us  the  excuse  we  could  so  well 
use — an  appeal  to  the  world  court  as  a 
"small  nation,"  for  a  place  at  the  com- 
ing peace  conference. 

Sunday  morning  one  of  the  despatch- 
girls,  white  and  scared  because  she  had 
been  escorted  to  our  "fort"  by  British 
soldiers,  came  from  headquarters  to  in- 
form Commandant  Mallin  that  a  gen- 
eral surrender  had  been  decided  on. 
The  Commandant  and  Madam  were  in 
my  room  at  the  time,  and  Madam  in- 
stantly grew  pale. 

"Surrender?"  she  cried.  "We'll 
never  surrender!" 

Then  she  begged  the  Commandant, 
who  could  make  the  decision  for  our  di- 
vision, not  to  think  of  giving  in.     It 
155 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

would  be  better,  she  said,  for  all  of  us  to 
be  killed  at  our  posts.  I  felt  as  she  did 
about  it,  but  the  girl  who  had  brought 
the  despatch  became  more  and  more  ex- 
cited, saying  that  the  soldiers  outside 
had  threatened  to  "blow  her  little  head 
off"  if  she  did  not  come  out  soon  with 
the  word  they  wanted.  Possibly  they 
suspected  any  Irish  girl  would  be  more 
likely  to  urge  resistance  than  surrender. 

Commandant  Mallin,  to  quiet  us,  I 
suppose,  said  he  would  not  surrender 
unless  forced  to  do  so.  But  he  must 
have  decided  to  give  in  at  once,  for  in 
less  than  an  hour  an  ambulance  came  to 
take  me  to  St.  Vincent's  Hospital,  just 
across  the  Green. 

As  they  carried  me  down-stairs,  our 
boys  came  out  to  shake  my  hand.  I 
urged  them  again  and  again  to  hold  out. 
As  I  said  good-by  to  Commandant  Mal- 
lin, I  had  a  feeling  I  should  never  see 
156 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

him  again.  Not  that  it  entered  my 
head  for  a  moment  that  he  would  be  ex- 
ecuted by  the  British.  Despite  all  our 
wrongs  and  their  injustices,  I  did  not 
dream  of  their  killing  prisoners  of  war. 

I  felt  no  such  dread  concerning  the 
countess,  though  our  last  words  together 
were  about  her  will.  I  had  witnessed  it, 
and  she  had  slipped  it  in  the  lining  of 
my  coat.  I  was  to  get  it  to  her  family 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  It  was 
fortunate  that  I  did. 

My  departure  was  the  first  move  in 
the  surrender.  That  afternoon  all  the 
revolutionists  gave  up  their  arms  to  the 
British  in  St.  Patrick's  Square. 


157 


X 

THOSE  first  two  weeks  in  St.  Vin- 
cent's Hospital  were  the  blackest 
of  my  life.  In  that  small,  white  room 
I  was,  at  first,  as  much  cut  off  as  though 
in  my  grave.  I  had  fever,  and  the  doc- 
tors and  nurses  were  more  worried  over 
my  penumonia  than  over  my  wounds, 
though  every  time  they  dressed  them  I 
suffered  from  the  original  treatment 
with  corrosive  sublimate.  My  greatest 
anxiety,  however,  was  because  I  could 
get  no  word  to  my  mother  in  Glasgow. 
I  knew  she  would  think  I  had  been 
killed. 

That  was  just  what  happened.     The 
first  word  she  had  received  since  the  day 
I  left  home  was  that  I  was  dead ;  that  I 
158 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

had  been  shot  in  the  spine,  and  left  ly- 
ing on  the  Dublin  pavement  for  two 
days.  The  next  rumor  that  reached  her 
was  that  I  was  not  dead,  but  paralyzed. 
The  third  report  was  that  the  British 
had  sentenced  me  to  fifteen  years'  im- 
prisonment. Had  I  not  been  wounded, 
the  last  would  probably  have  been  true. 

After  two  weeks  I  wrote  a  letter,  and 
the  doctor  had  it  forwarded  home  for 
me.  It  had  not  been  easy  work  writing 
it,  for  my  right  arm  was  the  one  that 
had  been  wounded.  I  knew,  though, 
that  unless  she  had  word  in  my  own 
handwriting,  my  mother  might  not  be- 
lieve what  she  read. 

Presently  news  began  to  drift  in  to 
me  of  trials  and  executions.  I  could 
not  get  it  through  my  head.  Why  were 
these  men  not  treated  as  prisoners  of 
war  ?  We  had  obeyed  all  rules  of  war 
and  surrendered  as  formally  as  any 
159 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

army  ever  capitulated.  All  my  reports 
were  of  death ;  nothing  but  death ! 

At  dawn  on  May  3,  the  British  shot 
Padraic  Pearse,  Thomas  McDonagh, 
and  old  Tom  Clarke. 

The  following  day  they  shot  Joseph 
Plunkett,  the  brother  of  Padraic  Pearse, 
and  two  other  leaders,  Daly  and 
O'Hanrahan. 

The  third  day  John  McBride,  a  man 
known  the  world  over  for  his  stand  in 
the  Boer  War,  was  shot  to  death.  He 
was  the  only  one  killed  that  day,  and  we 
wondered  why.  What  was  this  Brit- 
ish reasoning  that  determined  who 
should  go  in  company  with  his  fellows 
and  who  should  go  alone? 

At  length  came  the  turn  of 'the  Coun- 
tess Markievicz.  Because  she  was  a 
woman,  they  commuted  her  death-sen- 
tence to  penal  servitude  for  life.  I  was 
very  glad;  but  I  knew  that,  since  she 
160 


In  order  to  prevent  the  further  slaughter  of  Dublin, 
citizens,  and  in  the  hope  of  saving  the  lives  of  our 
followers  now  surrounded  and  hopelessly  outnumbered,  the 
members  of  the  Provisional  Government  present  at  Head- 
Quarters  have  ?.greed  to  an  unconditional  surrender,  and  the 
Commandants  of  the  various  districts  in  the  City  and  Country 
will  order  their  commands  to  lay  down  arrae. 


^•^.l^-t»x«. 


v^  J^^    '  V 


'cud     ^^    ^^     I  ^*  'tikcMx^.    ?V 


£ 


uK 


<£  ^^^'^W.  oU^t^A-     d> 


/L<yy^  1£a$OI^£  .    *, 


THE  ORDER   THAT  MADE   THE  SURRENDER   (IF  THE  COLLEGE  Of  SURGEONS    INEVITABLE 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

had  fought  as  one  of  them,  she  would 
rather  have  died  with  them.  Penal 
servitude!  Those  words  rang  like  a 
knell  for  one  who  was  all  energy,  who 
needed  people  around  her,  who  wanted 
to  serve. 

The  British  did  not  shoot  any  one  on 
Sunday.  They  let  us  meditate  on  all 
that  the  past  week  had  done  to  our  lead- 
ers. There  is  no  torture  so  excruciating 
as  suspense.  It  is  the  suspense  which 
Ireland  has  had  to  endure  for  genera- 
tions that  has  weakened  her  more  than 
any  battles.  How  we  have  waited  and 
waited!  It  has  always  been  hard  for 
us  to  believe  we  were  not  to  realize  our 
hopes.  Even  in  these  latter  years  dur- 
ing which  Home  Rule  has  loomed  large 
before  us,  we  have  not  suspected  that,  in 
the  end,  it  would  become  only  a  parlia- 
mentary trick  and  a  delusion.  If  any 
one  had  told  me  the  Sunday  before  that 
161 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

all  these  men  were  to  be  shot,  I  should 
not  have  believed  them.  Our  bitter  be- 
lief has  been  forced  upon  us. 

On  Monday  the  British  began  it 
again.  This  time  it  was  Michael  Mal- 
lin  they  stood  against  a  wall  and  shot. 
I  remembered  how,  when  I  was  so  ill  at 
the  College  of  Surgeons,  he  had  been 
gentle  with  me.  He  always  had  tried 
to  ease  the  discomforts  of  his  men. 
You  would  never  have  guessed  by  look- 
ing at  him,  he  was  so  quiet  and  re- 
strained, that  he  had  been  waiting 
twenty  years  for  the  day  which  would 
make  him  a  commandant  over  Irish  sol- 
diers. He  told  me  that,  as  a  boy  of 
fourteen,  he  had  enlisted  in  the  British 
army  to  get  experience  with  which  to 
fight  Great  Britain.  When  he  was  sta- 
tioned in  India,  he  said,  he  had  lain 
awake  night  after  night,  planning  how 
some  day  he  could  put  his  military 
162 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

knowledge  at  Ireland's  service.  Six 
days  he  served  Ireland;  eight  days  he 
lay  in  prison ;  now  he  was  dead ! 

Later  his  widow  came  to  see  me.  She 
brought  me  the  note-book  he  used  when 
writing  the  despatches  I  carried.  She 
brought  me,  besides,  some  small  bits  of 
Irish  poplin  he  had  woven  himself.  She 
did  not  break  down ;  she  seemed  exalted. 
It  was  the  same  with  all  the  wives  of 
those  shot,  and  with  the  mother  of  Pa- 
draic  and  William  Pearse.  You  would 
have  thought  they  had  been  greatly 
honored,  that  their  dignity  was  equal  to 
bearing  it. 

Yet  they  all  had  terrible  stories  of 
cruelty  to  tell  me.  Kilmainham  Prison 
was  a  grim  waiting-room  for  death.  In 
addition,  the  court-martial  never  lasted 
long  enough  for  any  one  to  feel  he  had 
been  fairly  tried  and  judged.  I  heard 
all  the  prison  sentences,  over  a  hundred 
163 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

that  first  week !  Most  of  them  were  for 
long  terms,  and  five  for  life.  Councilor 
Partridge  was  given  a  fifteen-year  sen- 
tence that  afterward  was  commuted  to 
ten. 

It  is  not  the  same  thing  to  read  of  ex- 
ecutions and  sentences  in  the  press  and 
to  hear  of  them  from  the  lips  of  friends, 
— the  wives,  mothers,  and  daughters  of 
the  men  executed  or  sentenced  for  life. 
To  feel  we  had  failed  in  our  purpose  was 
enough  to  make  us  brood;  but  to  know 
that  never  again  would  these  men  sing 
rebel  songs  together  or  tell  of  their 
hopes — 

At  length  Norah  Connolly  and  her 
sister  came  to  see  me.  They  told  me  of 
their  father's  last  hours;  how,  because 
of  his  wound  that  already  had  brought 
him  close  to  death,  he  had  to  be  strapped 
into  a  chair  to  face  the  firing-squad.  I 
thought  of  gentle  Mrs.  Connolly  saying 
164 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

good-by  to  her  husband,  knowing  all  the 
while  what  was  about  to  take  place! 

Some  of  the  first-aid  girls  who  had 
been  in  prison  for  fifteen  days  came  to 
visit  me,  too.  We  compared  notes.  I 
learned  then  how  Chris  Caflrey  had 
been  stripped  and  searched  by  British 
soldiers  to  her  shame,  for  she  was  a 
modest  girl.  But  she  had  eaten  her 
despatch  before  they  dragged  her  off  the 
street  where  she  had  been  bicycling.  I 
heard,  too,  how  Chris  had  been  almost 
prevented  from  reaching  headquarters 
by  a  crowd  of  poor  women  gathered 
about  the  post-office  for  their  usual 
weekly  "separation  allowance."  Their 
husbands  were  all  fighting  in  France  or 
Flanders  for  the  British.  They  would 
not  get  their  allowance  this  week,  and 
were  terror-stricken,  crowding  about  the 
post-office  and  crying  and  shouting 
hysterically.  Chris,  as  we  called  Chris- 
165 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

tine,  had  to  fire  her  revolver  at  the 
ground  before  they  would  make  way  for 
her. 

Next  followed  the  story  of  Francis 
Sheehy  Skeffington,  one  of  the  few  men 
in  Dublin  we  could  go  to  for  advice 
about  the  law  when  we  had  any  plan  to 
carry  out.  He  had  been  shot  without  a 
trial,  they  said;  without  even  knowing, 
when  called  out  into  the  little  courtyard, 
that  he  was  about  to  be  killed.  And  he 
had  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  rising! 
He  always  had  been  against  the  use  of 
force.  When  he  was  arrested,  after  a 
day  spent  in  trying  to  get  a  committee  of 
safety  together  because  the  police  had 
disappeared,  his  wife  did  not  even  know 
where  he  was.  She  had  no  word  of  his 
death  until  a  day  after  he  was  buried 
in  quicklime,  the  burial  of  a  criminal! 

Ah,  how  the  stories  of  Belgian  atroci- 
ties which  we  had  heard  from  the  lips 
1 66 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

of  the  Archbishop  of  Michlin  when  the 
Great  War  broke  out,  paled  beside  this 
one  fortnight  in  Dublin!  We  did  not 
know  when  it  would  end  or  how.  There 
ensued  a  reign  of  terror  in  all  Irish 
homes,  whether  the  men  or  women  had 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  rising  or 
not.  For  both  soldiers  and  police  were 
now  given  power  to  arrest  any  one  they 
pleased.  Several  hundred  men  were  put 
in  prison  under  no  charge,  nor  were  any 
charges  ever  preferred  in  many  cases. 
The  women,  too!  Helen  Maloney 
and  Dr.  Katherine  Lynn,  whose  motor 
Madam  had  used  that  night  in  St.  Ste- 
phen's Green  and  whose  bicycle  I  had 
been  riding,  were  both  arrested  Easter 
Monday  and  taken  to  Dublin  Castle. 
Miss  Maloney  was  discovered  a  few 
hours  later  with  the  lock  half  off  her 
door,  her  fingers  bleeding  pitifully  from 
attempts  to  get  out.  Next  they  were 
167 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

taken  to  Kilmainham  jail,  where  for 
fifteen  days  those  two  women,  with 
eighty  others,  were  kept  in  a  room  com- 
pletely lacking  any  sanitary  arrange- 
ments. We  used  to  shudder  at  stories 
of  such  deeds,  which  we  then  believed 
could  happen  only  in  Siberia.  Dr. 
Lynn  is  famous  for  her  surgical  skill. 
She  is  one  of  the  Irish  doctors  to  whom 
the  British  send  their  worst  war  crip- 
ples for  treatment,  and  is  far  more  suc- 
cessful than  they  in  treating  such  cases. 
Many  visitors  to  Dublin  have  seen  Miss 
Maloney  on  the  stage  of  the  Abbey 
Theater  and  recognized  her  talent.  Dr. 
Lynn  was  deported  to  Bath;  Miss  Ma- 
loney was  sent  to  the  Aylesbury  Prison, 
and  kept  there  a  year.  Never  once  dur- 
ing that  time  was  any  charge  preferred 
against  her. 

Little   Tommy   Keenan   of   Camden 
Row  had,  so  he  thought,  the  good  f or- 
168 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

tune  to  be  put  in  prison  with  sixty  of  the 
Fianna  when  our  men  surrendered  the 
College  of  Surgeons.  But,  much  to 
their  chagrin,  at  the  end  of  two  weeks 
the  boys  were  released.  Did  they 
scurry  away  to  grow  up  into  better  Brit- 
ish subjects?  Not  at  all!  Tommy 
lined  them  up  in  front  of  the  jail  and 
led  them  off  down  the  street  singing 
"The  Watch  on  the  Rhine"  at  the  top 
of  their  lungs. 

There  was  no  end  to  the  stories  I 
heard  as  I  lay  there  in  the  hospital. 
Stories  of  heroism  and  stories  of  dis- 
aster followed  one  another,  each 
strengthening  my  belief  that  the  courage 
and  honor  of  the  heroic  days  of  Ireland 
were  still  alive  in  our  hearts.  Perhaps 
it  is  for  this  we  should  love  our  enemies : 
when  they  cleave  with  their  swords  the 
heart  of  a  brave  man,  they  lay  bare  the 
truth  of  life. 

169 


XI 

THERE  came  a  day  when  I  could  no 
longer  endure  lying  alone  in  my 
room,  thinking  of  all  that  had  happened 
for  this  reason  or  that.  The  nurses  had 
been  very  kind  to  me.  Some  of  them 
were  in  sympathy  with  the  Sinn  Fein 
movement,  while  all  of  them  felt  the 
horror  of  the  executions.  There  were 
times  when  I  could  rise  above  this  hor- 
ror and  cheer  them,  too,  by  singing  a 
rebel  song.  I  had  interested  them, 
besides,  in  suffrage  work  we  had  been 
doing  in  Glasgow,  where  for  several 
years  eleven  hundred  militants  had  done 
picketing  and  the  like. 

Finally,  however,  I  persuaded  them  to 
let  me  move  into  the  public  ward,  where 
170 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

I  could  see  other  women  patients  and 
talk  a  little.  There  were  about  twenty 
women  and  girls  in  the  ward.  Nine  of 
them,  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
rising,  had  been  wounded  by  British  sol- 
diers.  The  nurses  insisted  this  was  ac- 
cidental. But  the  women  themselves 
would  not  agree  to  that  explanation,  nor 
did  I,  for  I  recalled  the  Red  Cross  girls 
being  shot  at, — a  thing  I  had  seen  with 
my  own  eyes.  I  told  the  nurses  I  had 
seen  the  British  firing  at  our  ambulances 
in  the  belief,  no  doubt,  that  we  were  do- 
ing what  we  had  caught  them  at — trans- 
porting troops  from  one  part  of  Dublin 
to  another  in  ambulances.  Sometimes  I 
felt  sorry  to  have  to  make  those  nurses 
see  facts  as  they  were,  instead  of  helping 
them  keep  what  few  illusions  still  re- 
mained about  their  men  in  khaki.  But 
I  was  glad  when  I  could  tell  them  what  I 
had  just  heard  of  De  Vallera's  daring. 
171 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

With  a  handful  of  men,  he  had  pre- 
vented two  thousand  of  the  famous 
Sherwood  Foresters  coming  through 
lower  Mount  Street  to  attack  one  of  our 
positions.  Or,  again,  it  did  me  good  to 
relate  the  story  of  the  seventeen-year- 
old  lad  who  single-handed  had  captured 
a  British  general.  The  sequel  to  that 
tale,  however,  was  not  very  cheerful,  for 
the  same  general  had  sat  at  the  court- 
martial,  and  gave  the  boy  who  before 
had  had  power  of  life  and  death  over 
him,  a  ten  year  sentence. 

There  were  three  women  in  the  ward 
who  had  all  been  struck  by  the  same 
bullet:  a  mother,  her  daughter,  and  a 
cousin.  They  had  been  friendly  to  the 
British  soldiers,  had  fed  them  because, 
as  the  mother  told  me,  her  husband  and 
son  were  in  the  trenches  fighting  for 
Great  Britain.  These  three  women  had 
172 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

been  at  their  window,  looking  with 
curiosity  into  the  street,  when  the  very 
soldier  they  had  just  fed  turned  suddenly 
and  shot  them.  One  had  her  jawbone 
broken,  the  second  her  arm  pierced,  and 
the  third  was  struck  in  the  breast. 
They  were  all  serious  wounds  which 
kept  them  in  bed.  While  I  was  still 
in  the  ward,  the  two  men  of  this  family 
came  back  from  Flanders  on  leave,  only 
to  find  no  one  at  home.  The  neighbors 
directed  them  to  the  hospital.  I  hate  to 
think  how  those  men  looked  when  they 
learned  why  their  women  wore  band- 
ages. They  told  me  that  during  Easter 
Week  the  Germans  put  up  opposite  the 
trenches  of  the  Irish  Brigade  a  placard 
that  read : 

"The  military  are  shooting  down  your 
wives  and  children  in  Dublin!* 
173 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

But  the  Irish  soldiers  had  not  believed 
it, 

I  asked  them  if  it  was  true,  as  alleged, 
that  in  answer  to  the  placard,  the  Irish 
Brigade  had  sung  "Rule,  Britannia." 
They  were  indignant  at  the  idea.  They 
might  be  wearing  khaki,  they  said,  but 
they  never  yet  had  sung  "Rule,  Britan- 
nia." When  the  day  came  for  them  to 
return  to  the  front,  the  father  wanted  to 
desert,  dangerous  as  that  would  be, 
while  the  son  was  eager  to  go  back  to  the 
trenches. 

"This  time,"  he  said  to  me,  "we'll  not 
be  killing  Germans !" 

When  rumors  came  later  of  a  mutiny 
in  the  Irish  regiment,  I  wondered  to  my- 
self if  these  two  men  were  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

Stories  of  atrocities  poured  into  our 
ears  when  the  Germans  invaded  Bel- 
174 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

gium.  Now  we  had  to  hear  them  from 
our  own  people,  and  now  we  had  to 
believe  them.  They  were  stories  as 
cruel  as  any  heard  since  the  days  of  the 
Island  Magee  massacre. 

In  the  House  of  Commons  shortly 
after  the  rising,  the  cabinet  was  ques- 
tioned if  it  were  true  that  the  body  of  a 
boy  in  the  uniform  of  the  Irish  Volun- 
teers had  been  unearthed  in  the  grounds 
of  Trinity  College,  with  the  marks  of 
twenty  bayonet  wounds  upon  him. 

"No/'  was  the  response,  "there  were 
not  twenty ;  there  were  only  nineteen" ! 

The  body  in  question  was  that  of 
Gerald  Keogh,  one  of  a  family  passion- 
ately devoted  to  the  cause  of  Irish  free- 
dom. He  had  been  sent  to  Kimmage 
to  bring  back  fifty  men.  He  went  scout- 
ing ahead  of  them,  just  as  I  had  done 
when  I  brought  in  the  men  from  the 
Leeson  Street  bridge.  As  he  was  pass- 
175 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ing  Trinity  College,  held  by  the  British, 
he  was  shot  down  and  swiftly  captured. 
It  is  generally  understood  he  was  asked 
for  information,  and  that,  upon  his 
refusing  to  answer,  the  soldiers  tried  to 
force  it  from  him  by  prodding  him  with 
their  bayonets.  I  might  add  that  the 
fifty  men  with  him  were  not  attacked  as 
they  went  by. 

This  boy's  brother  was  also  captured 
by  British  soldiers,  who  decided  to  hang 
him  then  and  there.  He  begged  them 
to  shoot  him,  but  they  fastened  a  noose 
around  his  neck  and  led  him  to  a  lamp- 
post. Fortunately  an  officer  came  along 
at  that  moment  and  rescued  him.  Even 
children  were  not  safe  from  being  ter- 
rorized by  the  soldiers,  as  Mr.  Dillon 
later  brought  out  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. 

There  also  were  murders  in  North 
King  Street.     Fourteen  men  who  had 
176 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

nothing  to  do  with  the  rising,  were 
killed  in  their  homes  by  British  soldiers 
who  buried  them  in  their  cellars,  while 
others  looted  the  houses.  The  house  in 
Leinster  Road  was  pillaged,  and  the  sol- 
diers had  the  effrontery  to  sell  the 
books,  fine  furniture,  and  paintings  on 
the  street  in  front  of  the  dwelling. 

I  had  been  in  the  hospital  now  about 
five  weeks,  and  had  been  told  I  might 
go  in  a  few  days  to  visit  friends  in  the 
city  if  I  would  promise  to  return  every 
day  to  have  my  wounds  dressed.  Then 
one  morning  I  was  informed  there  was 
a  "G-man,"  as  we  call  government  detec- 
tives, waiting  down-stairs  to  see  me. 
He  had  been  coming  every  day  to  the 
hospital,  it  seems,  to  learn  if  I  was  yet 
strong  enough  to  go  to  jail.  Evidently 
he  had  decided  that  I  was,  for  he  told 
me  I  must  accompany  him  to  Bridewell 
Prison. 

177 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

When  I  went  up  to  the  ward  to  say 
good-by  and  get  my  things,  I  found  the 
nurses  terribly  upset.  You  see,  it 
brought  the  Irish  question  right  home  to 
that  hospital.  They  went  to  him  in  a 
body  and  tried  to  beg  me  off,  but  he 
insisted  on  his  rights,  and  away  I  went 
despite  tears  and  protestations. 

This  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  out, 
so  naturally  I  felt  queer  and  weak.  Nor 
was  I  pleased  with  my  companion.  He 
had  a  fat,  self-satisfied  face ;  in  fact,  was 
not  at  all  the  handsome,  keen-looking 
detective  you  see  on  the  cover  of  a  dime 
novel.  Besides,  he  was  too  polite.  He 
thought,  I  suppose,  that  this  would  be 
the  best  way  to  get  me  to  answer  the 
hundred  and  one  questions  he  began  to 
ask  me.  I  told  him  I  might  answer 
questions  about  myself,  but  I  certainly 
should  not  answer  any  concerning  the 
countess  or  my  other  friends. 

i78 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

This  response  kept  him  quiet  for  a 
block  or  two.  Then  he  turned  suddenly 
and  asked  me  about  two  girls  from  Glas- 
gow who  had  come  to  Ireland  at  the 
same  time  that  I  did.  I  just  walked 
along  as  though  I  had  not  heard  a  word, 
and  so  we  proceeded  in  silence  the  rest 
of  the  way. 

When  we  entered  the  vestibule  of  the 
prison,  an  old  official  immediately  began 
to  catechize  me.  I  refused  to  answer 
a  single  one  of  his  questions,  not  even 
as  to  my  name.  Instead  I  pointed  to 
the  "G-man." 

"Ask  him,"  I  said.  "He  knows  all 
about  me,  and  can  tell  you  if  he  wants 
to." 

The  detective's  face  grew  red,  but  he 
did  answer  the  old  man's  questions.  It 
was  very  interesting  to  me  to  find  that 
he  knew  who  my  parents  were;  that  I 
had  been  born  twelve  miles  from  Glas- 
179 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

gow ;  that  I  had  gone  to  different  schools 
which  he  named,  and  that  I  had  attended 
the  training  college  for  teachers.  He 
told  just  where  I  had  been  teaching,  and 
how  well  known  I  was  as  a  militant  suf- 
fragette. But  what  he  did  not  say  was 
even  more  interesting.  He  never  de- 
clared that  I  had  been  a  combatant  in 
the  rising.  I  wondered  inwardly  if  he 
thought  I  had  been  only  a  despatch- 
rider  or  a  first-aid  girl.  I  was  exceed- 
ingly glad  I  had  let  him  answer  for 
me  as,  taking  it  for  granted  they  knew 
all  about  me,  I  might  have  given  myself 
away. 

The  old  man  finally  called  the  matron 
and  told  her  to  treat  me  well,  as  I  was 
not  a  "drunk  or  disorderly"  person,  to 
which  class  this  prison  is  given  over,  but 
a  military  prisoner.  Indeed  she  did 
treat  me  well.  Since  there  was  nothing 
on  which  to  sit  down,  she  kindly  opened 
1 80 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

a  cell  and  let  me  sit  on  the  wooden  plank 
they  call  a  bed,  and  stare  at  the  wooden 
head-board.  I  did  not  look  forward 
much  to  such  accommodations,  with  my 
wounds  still  painful.  She  talked  to  me, 
too,  very  sympathetically.  Sometimes 
it  was  hard  for  us  to  hear  each  other,  as 
there  were  many  drunken  men  singing 
and  cursing.  Being  drunk,  they  were 
able  to  forget  that  Ireland  was  under 
martial  law,  and  cursed  the  British 
loudly  or  sang  disrespectful  songs. 

The  detective  had  gone  out,  and  those 
in  the  jail  seemed  waiting  to  hear  from 
him  before  they  picked  out  my  perma- 
nent cell.  After  about  two  hours,  he 
came  back.  From  where  I  sat,  I  could 
see  him  bend  over  the  old  man  and 
whisper  to  him.  Then  he  walked  over 
to  me. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "we  '11  go  now." 

"Go  where  ?"  I  asked. 
181 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

"To  the  hospital/'  he  replied,  "or  any- 
where else  you  wish.     You  are  free." 

The  matron  was  as  pleased  as  if  she 
were  a  friend  of  mine.  I  was  too 
amazed  to  know  what  to  think.  I  told 
the  detective,  however,  that  as  I  did  not 
know  this  part  of  Dublin,  I  could  not 
find  my  way  back  to  the  hospital  without 
his  company.  Off  we  went  again,  and 
he  paid  my  carfare,  for  which  I  thanked 
him. 

In  the  sky  overhead  were  aeroplanes 
that  the  British  kept  hovering  over  Dub- 
lin to  impress  the  people. 

"Are  those  the  little  things  with  which 
you  fight  the  Zeppelins  ?"  I  asked  my 
detective. 

This  remark  hurt  his  feelings.  He 
was  not  British,  he  informed  me,  but 
a  good  Redmondite.  How  embarrassed 
he  was  when  I  asked  him  if  he  liked 
arresting  Irish  who  had  shown  their 
182 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

love  of  Ireland  by  being  willing  to  die 
for  her  and,  what  sometimes  seemed 
worse  to  me,  going  into  an  English 
prison  for  life.  After  that  we  did  not 
talk  any  more  until  he  said  good-by  to 
me  at  the  hospital  door. 

The  nurses  were  not  as  surprised  to 
see  me  back  as  I  had  expected  them  to 
be.  They  had  known  I  was  returning, 
for  it  was  the  head  doctor  who  had  tele- 
phoned the  authorities  at  Dublin  Castle 
to  tell  them,  with  a  good  deal  of  heat, 
that  I  was  in  no  condition  to  begin  a 
prison  sentence.  That  must  have  been 
what  the  "G-man"  had  whispered  to  the 
old  official  at  Bridewell  Prison. 


183 


XII 

AFTER  two  weeks  more,  I  left  the 
hospital  and  went  to  stay  with 
a  friend  in  Dublin.  It  seemed  very 
strange  to  me  not  to  be  going  back  to 
Surrey  House.  How  everything  had 
changed!  As  soon  as  I  was  strong 
enough,  I  went  around  to  see  where  the 
fighting  had  destroyed  whole  streets. 
Dublin  was  scarred  and,  it  seemed  to 
me,  very  sick.  I  recalled  momentarily 
that  a  teacher  of  mine  had  once  said 
the  name  Dublin  meant  "the  Black 
Pool.,, 

The  building  where  I  had  first  met 
Thomas     McDonagh,     the     Volunteer 
headquarters,  had  a  "to  let"  sign  in  its 
184 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

windows.  Who  would  want  to  engage 
in  business  in  a  place  where  such  high 
hopes  had  been  blasted  ? 

Liberty  Hall  was  a  shell,  empty  of 
everything  but  memories. 

Around  the  post-office,  all  other  build- 
ings had  been  leveled,  but  the  great 
building  stood  there  like  a  monument  to 
Easter  Week. 

The  windows  stared  vacantly  from 
the  house  on  Leinster  Road.  Every- 
thing had  been  taken  from  it.  The 
looters  must  have  had  a  merry  time. 
Hundreds  of  houses  had  been  thus 
sacked,  for  the  British  soldiers  had 
lived  up  to  that  Tommy  whose  words 
make  Kipling's  famous  song: 

The  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they  spade 

the  beggars  under, 
Why  lootm'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime ; 
So  if  my  song  you  '11  hear,  I  will  learn  you 

plain  and  clear 

185 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightm*  overtime ; 

With  the  loot ! 

Bloomin'  loot! 
That 's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git  up  and 
shoot ! 


It 's  the  same  with  dogs  and  men, 
If  you  'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap  'em  forward  with  a 
Loo-loo-lulu 
Loot! 

Against  our  soldiers,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  great  many  of  whom  were  very 
poor,  there  had  not  been  a  single 
accusation  of  looting.  In  the  post- 
office,  for  instance,  they  ordered  one  of 
the  captured  British  officers  to  guard 
the  safe.  In  the  streets  where  windows 
had  been  broken,  they  tried  to  keep  the 
people  from  pillaging  the  shops.  What- 
ever money  our  men  found  lying  loose 
in  the  buildings  they  occupied  was 
turned  over  to  their  superior  officers. 
186 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Again  and  again  I  myself  had  seen  men 
of  the  Citizen  Army,  quite  as  poor  as 
any  British  soldier,  hand  over  money 
to  Commandant  Mallin.  Had  I  only 
thought  of  it,  I  could  have  taken  this 
with  me  when  I  was  carried  to  the  hos- 
pital. The  cause  would  have  been  at 
least  one  hundred  pounds  richer. 

At  the  College  of  Surgeons  we  had 
destroyed  nothing  except  a  portrait  of 
Queen  Victoria.  We  took  that  down 
and  made  puttees  out  of  it.  We  did  not 
feel  we  were  doing  any  wrong,  for  it 
was  Queen  Victoria  who,  in  1848,  wrote 
to  her  uncle,  King  Leopold  of  Belgium : 

"There  are  ample  means  of  crushing 
the  rebellion  in  Ireland,  and  I  think  it 
very  likely  to  go  off  without  any  contest, 
which  people  (I  think  rightly)  rather 
regret.  The  Irish  should  receive  a  good 
lesson  or  they  will  begin  it  again." 

From  this  quotation  any  one  can  see 
187 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

that  the  Queen  looked  upon  the  Irish 
as  aliens,  which,  indeed,  they  are. 

We  also  were  very  careful  of  the 
museum  and  library  at  the  College  of 
Surgeons.  Although  the  men  did  not 
have  any  covering  and  the  nights  were 
cold,  they  did  not  cut  up  the  rugs  and 
carpets,  but  doubled  them  and  crept  in 
between  the  folds  in  rows. 

About  Jacob's  Biscuit  Factory,  during 
Easter  Week,  even  though  it  was  a  very 
dangerous  spot,  the  employees  had 
hovered,  for  fear  their  means  of  liveli- 
hood would  be  destroyed.  But  it  was 
not.  The  machinery  was  left  unin- 
jured, for  we  always  remembered  our 
own  poor. 

At  Guinness's  brewery,  where  great 
quantities  of  stout  were  stored,  none  of 
it  was  touched.  Most  of  our  men  are 
teetotalers,  anyway. 

Some  of  the  poor  of  Dublin  had  tried 
188 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

to  pillage  at  first,  but  it  was  a  pathetic 
attempt.  I  saw  one  specimen  of  this  on 
Easter  Tuesday,  while  carrying  a  des- 
patch. There  was  a  crowd  of  people 
about  a  shoe-shop.  The  windows  had 
been  smashed,  and  the  poor  wretches 
were  clambering  into  the  shop  at  great 
risk  of  cutting  themselves.  Once  inside, 
despite  all  the  outer  excitement,  they 
were  taking  the  time  to  try  on  shoes! 
Many  of  them,  one  could  see,  had  never 
had  a  pair  of  new  shoes  in  their  lives. 
Visitors  to  Dublin  going  through  the 
poorer  parts  are  always  surprised  at  the 
number  of  children  and  young  girls  who 
walk  about  bare-footed  in  icy  weather. 
It  is  in  this  way  that  their  health  is  un- 
dermined. 

One  day  during  the  week  after  I  left 

the  hospital,  I  heard  that  a  batch  of 

prisoners  was  to  be  taken  to  England 

aboard  a  cattle-boat  leaving  the  pier 

189 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

called  North  Wall.  I  went  down  at 
once  to  watch  for  them.  It  was  a  very 
wet  day,  and  the  prisoners  had  been 
marched  six  miles  from  Richmond  bar- 
racks through  the  pouring  rain.  But 
they  were  singing  their  rebel  songs,  just 
as  if  they  had  never  been  defeated  and 
were  not  on  their  way  to  the  unknown 
horrors  of  an  English  prison. 

The  officer  in  charge  seemed  much 
excited,  though  he  had  five  hundred 
soldiers  to  look  after  a  hundred  pris- 
oners. 

"For  God's  sake,  close  in,  or  we  '11  be 
rushed!"  he  shouted  to  his  men.  Then 
the  soldiers,  with  fixed  bayonets,  "closed 
in"  upon  the  wet  crowd  of  rebels,  who 
actually  seemed  to  feel  the  humor  of  it. 

I  knew  some  of  the  boys,  and  walked 
in  between  the  bayonets  to  shake  hands 
with  them  and  march  a  part  of  the  way. 
190 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

They  had  heard  I  was  dead,  and  looked 
at  first  as  if  they  were  seeing  a  ghost. 
One  of  them,  a  little,  lame  playwright  of 
whom  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  at  Bride- 
well, had  told  me  at  the  time  that  he  was 
writing  a  farce  about  the  revolution  to 
show  its  absurdity.  He  had  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  rising,  for  it  was  his 
brother  who  had  been  with  us  at  the 
College  of  Surgeons.  There  was  not 
even  a  charge  against  him ;  yet  here  he 
was,  limping  along  in  the  rain  and  mud, 
but  still  cheerful.  This  chap  gave  me 
a  bundle  of  clothes  and  a  message  for 
his  mother,  so  I  hunted  her  up  the  next 
morning.  She  did  not  know  he  had 
been  deported,  and  was  in  despair,  for 
she  had  left  her  little  cottage  in  the 
country  to  be  near  her  son  in  Dublin. 
When  I  visited  her  she  was  just  back 
from  market  with  fruit  she  had  bought 
191 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

to  take  to  him,  as  it  was  visiting  day  at 
the  barracks. 

These  are  some  of  the  things  that 
made  even  quiet  old  mothers  grow 
bitter. 


192 


XIII 

NO  one  could  leave  Ireland  for 
Scotland  without  a  special  permit 
from  Dublin  Castle.  This  permit  was 
given  only  when  one  applied  in  person, 
so  I  decided  to  go  after  it.  My  friends 
were  terrified;  it  was  putting  my  head 
into  the  lion's  mouth.  But  it  was  the 
only  way,  even  though  I  might  never 
come  out  of  that  building  free. 

I  took  my  arm  out  of  the  sling,  hoping 
I  should  not  have  to  raise  it;  for  I 
could  n't,  nor  can  yet.  For  greater  pre- 
caution, just  before  I  reached  Dublin 
Castle,  I  removed  the  republican  colors 
I  always  wore,  and  put  them  in  my 
pocket. 

I  was  taken  to  a  room  where  a  police 
193 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

official  began  to  ask  me  questions.  It 
was,  I  believe,  my  "loyal"  Scotch  accent 
that  put  them  off  guard,  when  I  asked 
for  a  permit  to  go  to  Glasgow.  At  the 
hospital  one  of  the  nurses  shook  her 
head,  following  a  long  talk,  and  said: 

"Your  opinions  and  your  accent  don't 
go  together." 

I  have  often  been  told  that  I  look  more 
like  a  teacher  of  mathematics,  which, 
indeed,  I  am,  than  like  an  Irish  rebel,  of 
which  I  am  more  proud. 

The  officer  first  asked  me  my  name. 
I  confess  that  I  gave  it  to  him  while 
wondering  what  his  next  words  would 
be.  He  merely  asked  my  address  in 
Dublin,  so  I  gave  him  the  address  of 
friends  with  whom  I  was  staying. 
Would  that  disturb  him,  I  wondered? 

"When  did  you  come  to  Dublin?"  he 
next  asked. 

"Holy  Thursday,"  I  replied. 
194 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

"Then  you  Ve  been  here  during  the 
rising?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

In  a  tone  which  showed  how  deeply 
he  had  been  moved  by  Easter  Week,  he 
added : 

"It 's  been  a  terrible  business !" 

To  that  I  could  feelingly  agree. 

At  length  he  gave  me  a  permit,  not 
one  to  leave  Dublin,  but  merely  to  see 
the  military  authorities.  Here  was  an- 
other ordeal. 

I  went  up  to  a  soldier  in  the  corridor 
and  asked  him  where  I  should  go. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  asked. 

"It 's  on  this  permit,"  I  replied,  hold- 
ing it  out  to  him. 

But,  as  he  seemed  afraid  to  touch  it, 
I  told  him  my  name,  and  he  took  me  to 
the  office  where  the  military  authorities 
were  located.  I  shivered  a  little  at  the 
chance  of  his  going  in  with  me  and  tell- 
195 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ing  them  I  was  a  rebel.  But  he  left  me 
at  the  door. 

To  my  relief,  the  questions  put  to  me 
here  were  the  same  as  before.  I  had 
only  to  tell  the  truth,  and  the  polite 
officer  handed  over  my  pass. 

As  soon  as  I  was  outside  the  castle  I 
replaced  my  republican  colors  and  went 
home  to  friends  who  really  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  me  again. 

I  did  not  go  directly  to  Glasgow,  how- 
ever, for  I  heard  that  the  police  were 
watching  all  incoming  trains.  Instead, 
I  went  to  a  little  seaside  resort  to  recu- 
perate. My  sister,  who  had  come  over 
to  Dublin  to  be  with  me  after  I  left  the 
hospital,  went  along,  too.  She  was  ter- 
rified when  we  got  off  the  boat  because 
police  were  watching  the  gangway. 
But  nothing  happened.  My  mother 
came  to  see  me,  and  took  it  all  splen- 
didly, though  from  the  first  I  had  given 
196 


THE  PASS  OUT  OF   IRELAND   KUR   WHICH   TH 


E  AUTHOR,    AT  GREAT  RISK,    APPLIED    IN    PERSON    AT    DUBLIN    CASTLE 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

her  an  anxious  time  of  it.  She  is  a  good 
rebel. 

I  was  proud  that  I  could  tell  my 
mother  I  had  been  mentioned  three  times 
for  bravery  in  despatches  sent  to  head- 
quarters. The  third  time  was  when  I 
was  wounded.  Commandant  Mallin 
had  said  then : 

"You  '11  surely  be  given  the  republican 


cross." 


But  the  republic  did  not  last  long 
enough  for  that.  I  was  given  an  Irish 
cross.  This  was  the  joint  gift  of  the 
Cumman-na-mBan  girls  and  the  Irish 
Volunteers  of  Glasgow.  They  ar- 
ranged, as  a  surprise  for  me,  a  meeting 
with  addresses  and  songs.  Since  I  had 
no  hint  of  it,  I  was  out  of  Scotland  on  the 
day  set.  They  had  to  repeat  part  of  the 
ceremony  when  I  came  back.  It  all  was 
meant  to  be  very  solemn,  but  somehow  I 
felt  strange  and  absurd  to  be  getting  a 
197 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

cross  for  bravery  that  had  led  to  death 
or  prison  so  many  others. 

I  had  left  Scotland  very  quietly  to  go 
to  England  and  see  some  of  our  boys 
being  held  in  Reading  Jail  without  any 
charge  against  them.  I  had  had  a  good 
talk  with  them,  even  though  a  guard 
stood  near  all  the  time.  He  was  a  pleas- 
ant-enough person,  so  we  included  him 
in  our  conversation,  explaining  the 
whole  rising  to  him.  The  boys  were  in 
good  spirits,  too.  They  laughed  when 
I  told  them  I  had  always  boasted  I 
would  never  set  foot  in  England.  And 
here,  on  their  account,  I  was  not  only  in 
England,  but  in  an  English  prison. 

We  had  very  few  Irish  revolutionists 
in  the  Scotch  prisons.  Two  hundred  of 
them  were  brought,  during  August,  to 
Barlinnie  Prison,  but  they  were  allowed 
to  stay  only  a  short  time.  Ear  too  much 
sympathy  was  expressed  for  them  by 
198 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  Irish  in  Glasgow  and  by  Scotch  suf- 
fragettes, who  made  a  point  of  going  to 
visit  them  and  taking  them  comforts. 
Presently  they  were  removed  to  the 
camp  at  Frongoch,  Wales,  where  sev- 
eral hundred  others  who  had  taken  part 
in  the  rising  were  interned.  As  they 
marched  through  the  streets  of  Glasgow, 
we  could  not  help  noticing  how  much 
larger  and  finer  looking  they  appeared 
than  the  British  soldiers  guarding  them. 
They  were  men  from  Galway, — men 
who  for  six  long  days  had  put  up  a 
memorable  fight  in  that  county,  and  with 
less  than  forty  rifles  had  held  six  hun- 
dred square  miles !  Three  thousand  of 
the  rifles  that  went  down  with  the  And 
had  been  promised  to  Galway.  Yet  five 
hundred  men  had  been  ready  to  "go  out" 
when  they  heard  that,  despite  the  coun- 
termanding order,  Dublin  forces  were 
rebelling,  no  matter  what  the  odds. 
199 


XIV 

WHEN  I  went  back  to  Dublin  in 
August,  it  was  to  find  that 
almost  every  one  on  the  streets  was 
wearing  republican  colors.  The  feeling 
was  bitter,  too — so  bitter  that  the  Brit- 
ish soldiers  had  orders  to  go  about  in 
fives  and  sixes,  but  never  singly.  They 
were  not  allowed  by  their  officers  to 
leave  the  main  thoroughfares,  and  had 
to  be  in  barracks  before  dark, — that  is, 
all  except  the  patrol.  The  city  was  still 
under  martial  law,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
the  military  authorities  were  the  really 
nervous  persons.  Much  of  this  bitter- 
ness came  from  the  fact  that  people 
remembered  how,  after  the  war  in 
South  Africa  which  lasted  three  years 
200 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

instead  of  five  days,  only  one  man  had 
been  executed.  After  our  rising  sixteen 
men  had  been  put  to  death. 

Everywhere  I  heard  the  opinion  ex- 
pressed that  if  the  revolution  could  have 
lasted  a  little  longer,  we  would  have  been 
flooded  with  recruits.  As  it  was,  the 
rising  had  taken  people  completely  by 
surprise.  Before  they  could  recover 
from  that  surprise,  it  was  over,  and  its 
leaders  were  paying  the  penalty  of  death 
or  imprisonment.  One  week  is  a  short 
time  for  the  general,  uninformed  mass 
of  a  dominated  people  to  decide  whether 
an  outbreak  of  any  sort  is  merely  an 
impotent  rebellion,  or  a  real  revolution 
with  some  promise  of  success.  Besides, 
there  have  been  so  many  isolated  pro- 
tests in  Ireland,  doomed  from  the  first 
to  failure. 

There  was  evidence  everywhere  that 
the  feeling  of  bitterness  was  not  vague, 

20I 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

but  the  direct  result  of  fully  understand- 
ing what  had  happened.  At  a  moving- 
picture  performance  of  "The  Great  Be- 
trayal," I  was  surprised  at  the  spirit  of 
daring  in  the  audience.  The  story  was 
about  one  of  those  abortive  nationalist 
revolts  in  Italy  which  preceded  the  revo- 
lution that  made  Italy  free.  The  plot 
was  parallel  in  so  many  respects  to  the 
Easter  Week  rising  in  Ireland  that 
crowds  flocked  every  day  to  see  it.  In 
the  final  picture,  when  the  heroic  leaders 
were  shot  in  cold  blood,  men  in  the 
audience  called  out  bitterly : 

"That's  right,  Colthurst!  Keep  it 
up!" 

Colthurst  was  the  man  who  shot 
Sheehy  Skeffington  without  trial  on  the 
second  day  of  the  rising.  He  had  been 
promoted  for  his  deeds  of  wanton 
cruelty,  and  only  the  fact  that  a  royal 
commission  was  demanded  by  Skeffing- 
202 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

ton's  widow  and  her  friends,  made  it 
necessary  to  adjudge  him  insane  as  ex- 
cuse for  his  behavior,  when  that  behav- 
ior was  finally  brought  to  light. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  my  visit  to 
the  moving-pictures  that  I  was  annoyed 
by  the  knowledge  that  a  detective  was 
following  me.  His  only  disguise  was  to 
don  Irish  tweeds  such  as  "Irish  Ireland- 
ers"  wear  to  stimulate  home  industry. 
He  had  been  following  me  about  Dublin 
ever  since  my  arrival  for  my  August 
visit.  To  this  day  I  don't  know  why 
he  did  not  arrest  me,  nor  what  he  was 
waiting  for  me  to  do.  But  I  decided 
now  to  give  him  the  slip.  In  Glasgow 
I  have  had  much  practice  jumping  on 
cars  going  at  full  speed.  The  Dublin 
cars  are  much  slower,  so  as  a  car  passed 
me  in  the  middle  of  the  block,  I  suddenly 
leaped  aboard,  leaving  my  British  friend 
standing  agape  with  astonishment  on 
203 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

the  sidewalk.  Doubtless  he  felt  the 
time  had  come  for  me  to  carry  out  what- 
ever plot  I  had  up  my  sleeve,  and  that 
he  had  been  defeated  in  his  purpose  of 
looking  on.     I  never  saw  him  again. 

Even  the  children  of  Ireland  have 
become  republicans.  There  was  a  strike 
not  long  ago  in  Dublin  schools  because 
an  order  was  issued  by  the  authorities 
that  school  children  should  not  wear 
republican  colors.  The  day  after  the 
teachers  made  this  announcement  some 
few  children  obeyed  the  order,  but  they 
appeared  in  white  dresses  with  green 
and  orange  ribbons  in  their  hair  or  cap. 
When  this,  too,  was  forbidden,  the 
pupils  in  one  of  the  schools  marched  out 
in  a  body,  and  proceeded  to  other  schools 
throughout  the  city  to  call  out  the  pupils 
on  strike.  Any  school  that  did  not  obey 
204 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

their  summons  promptly  had  its  win- 
dows smashed.  Finally,  the  police  were 
called  and  marched  against  them.  The 
children,  as  the  sympathetic  press  put 
it,  "retreated  in  good  order  to  Mountjoy 
Square,  where  they  took  their  stand  and 
defended  their  position  with  what  am- 
munition was  at  hand,  namely,  paving- 
stones."  The  end  of  it  all  was  that  the 
children  won,  and  went  back  to  school 
wearing  as  many  badges  or  flags  as  they 
wished. 

Irish  boys  are  showing  their  attitude, 
too,  for  at  Padraic  Pearse's  school,  con- 
ducted now  by  a  brother  of  Thomas  Mc- 
Donagh  who  taught  there  before  the 
rising,  there  are  several  hundred  boys 
on  the  waiting-list.  The  school  never 
was  as  crowded  before;  the  work  that 
Pearse  gave  his  life  for,  the  inspiriting 
of  Irish  youth,  is  still  going  on. 
205 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Out  on  Leinster  Road  one  day,  I 
walked  past  that  house  where,  not  nine 
months  before,  I  had  met  so  many  peo- 
ple of  the  republican  movement.  The 
house  was  empty,  with  that  peculiar  look 
of  bereavement  that  some  houses  wear. 
It  had  been  an  embodiment  of  the  Coun- 
tess Markievicz,  and,  now  that  she  was 
gone,  looked  doomed.  Where  was  she  ? 
Over  in  England  in  Aylesbury  Prison, 
but  fortunately  at  work  in  the  kitchen. 
I  could  not  fancy  her  depressed  beyond 
activity  of  some  sort  that  in  the  end 
would  be  for  Ireland's  good. 

"A  felon's  cap  's  the  noblest  crown  an  Irish 
head  can  wear." 

This  was  one  of  her  favorite  quota- 
tions, and  I  knew  that  in  wearing  the 
cap,  her  courage  would  not  desert  her. 
Her  sister  had  seen  her,  and  told  me 
she  was  in  good  spirits;  grateful  that 
206 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

they  had  put  her  to  work  and  not  left 
her  to  inactivity  or  brooding  thoughts. 
She  had  repeated  what  an  old  woman 
in  Mountjoy  Prison  had  said  to  her : 

"Man  never  built  a  wall  but  God 
Almighty  threw  a  gap  in  it  I" 

Last  November  I  paid  another  visit 
to  Dublin.  The  bitterness  had  in- 
creased. 


207 


SONGS  SUNG  BY  THE  IRISH 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  THE 

EASTER  RISING 


Here  is  one  of  my  favorite  songs  as 
a  child : 

O'DONNELL  ABOO 
I 

Proudly   the   note    of   the   trumpet   is 

sounding, 
Loudly  the  war-cries  arise  on  the  gale; 
Fleetly  the  steed  by  Lough  Swilly  is 

bounding, 
To  join  the  thick  squadrons  in  Saim- 
ear's  green  vale. 
On,  every  mountaineer, 
Strangers  to  fight  and  fear! 
Rush  to  the  standard  of  dauntless  Red 
Hugh! 
Bonnaught  and  gallowglass, 
Throng  from  each  mountain  pass; 
Onward  for  Erin,  O'Donnell  Aboo! 
211 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 
II 

Princely  O'Neill  to  our  aid  is  advancing 
With  many  a  chieftain  and  warrior  clan. 
A  thousand  proud  steeds  in  his  van- 
guard are  prancing 
'Neath  borderers  brave  from  the  banks 
of  the  Bann. 
Many  a  heart  shall  quail 
Under  its  coat  of  mail ; 
Deeply  the  merciless  foeman  shall  rue, 
When  on  his  ear  shall  ring, 
Borne  on  the  breezes'  wing, 
Sir  Connell's  dread  war-cry,  "O'Donnell 
Aboo!" 

Ill 

Wildly  o'er  Deamond  the  war-wolf  is 

howling ! 
Fearless  the  eagle  sweeps  over  the  plain ! 
The  fox  in  the  streets  of  the  city  is 

prowling ! 

212 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

All,  all  who  would  scare  them  are  ban- 
ished or  slain ! 
Grasp  every  stalwart  hand 
Hackbut  and  battle  brand, 
Pay  them  all  back  the  deep  debt  so  long 
due! 
Norris  and  Clifford  well 
Can  of  Sir  Connell  tell ; 
Onward  to  glory,  "O'Donnell  Aboo !" 

IV 

Sacred  the  cause  of  Clan  Connail's  de- 
fending, 
The  altars  we  kneel  at,  the  homes  of  our 

sires. 
Ruthless  the  ruin  the  foe  is  extending. 
Midnight  is  red  with  the  plunderers' 
fires. 
On  with  O'Donnell,  then! 
Fight  the  old  fight  again, 
Sons  of  Sir  Connell,  all  valiant  and  true ; 
2\  3 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Make  the  false  Saxon  feel 
Erin's  avenging  steel ! 
Strike    for   your    country,    "O'Donnell 
Aboo!" 


This  was  the  other : 

THE  JACKETS  GREEN 

When  I  was  a  maiden  fair  and  young 

On  the  pleasant  banks  of  Lee, 

No  bird  that  in  the  wild  wood  sang 

Was  half  so  blythe  and  free ; 

My  heart  ne'er  beats  with  flying  feet, 

Tho*  Love  sand  me  his  queen, 

Till  down  the  glen  rode  Saisfield's  men 

And  they  wore  their  jackets  green. 


214 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 
II 

Young  Donal  sat  on  his  gallant  gray 

Like  a  king  on  a  royal  seat, 

And  my  heart  leaped  out  on  his  regal 

way 
To  worship  at  his  feet ; 

0  Love,  had  you  come  in  those  colors 

dressed, 
And  woo'd  with  a  soldier's  mien, 

1  'd  have  laid  my  head  on  your  throbbing 

breast 
For  the  sake  of  the  Irish  green. 

Ill 

No  hoarded  wealth  did  my  love  own 
Save  the  good  sword  that  he  bore, 
But  I  loved  him  for  himself  alone 
And  the  colors  bright  he  wore. 
For  had  he  come  in  England's  red 
To  make  me  England's  queen, 
I  'd  rove  the  high  green  hills  instead 
For  the  sake  of  the  Irish  green. 
215 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 
IV 

When  William  stormed  with  shot  and 

shell 
At  the  walls  of  Garryowen, 
In  the  breach  of  death  my  Donal  fell, 
And  he  sleeps  near  the  treaty  stone. 
That  breach  the  foeman  never  crossed 
While  he  swung  his  broadsword  keen, 
But  I  do  not  weep  my  darling  lost, 
For  he  fell  in  his  jacket  green. 


216 


Here  is  a  song  that  Madam  liked  very 
much.  It  was  the  most  popular  song  of 
the  Fenians : 

THE  FELONS  OF  OUR  LAND 

Fill  up  once  more,  we'll  drink  a  toast 

To  comrades  far  away, 
No  nation  upon  earth  can  boast 

Of  braver  hearts  than  they ; 
And  though  they  sleep  in  dungeons  deep, 

Or  flee,  outlawed  and  banned, 
We  love  them  yet,  we  can't  forget 

The  felons  of  our  land. 

In  boyhood's  bloom  and  manhood's  pride 

Foredoomed  by  alien  laws, 

Some  on  the  scaffold  proudly  died 

For  Ireland's  holy  cause ; 
And,  brother,  say,  shall  we  to-day 

Unmoved,  like  cowards  stand, 
217 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

While  traitors  shame  and  foes  defame 
The  felons  of  our  land  ? 

Some  in  the  convict's  dreary  cell 

Have  found  a  living  tomb, 
And  some,  unknown,  unfriended,  fell 

Within  the  prison's  gloom ; 
But  what  care  we,  although  it  be 

Trod  by  a  ruffian  band? 
God  bless  the  clay  where  rest  to-day 

The  felons  of  our  land! 

Let  cowards  sneer  and  tyrants  frown, 

Oh,  little  do  we  care ! 
The  felon's  cap  's  the  noblest  crown 

An  Irish  head  can  wear ! 
And  every  Gael  in  Innisfail 

Who  scorns  the  serf's  vile  brand, 
From  Lee  to  Boyne  would  gladly  join 

The  felons  of  our  land! 


218 


This  is  one  of  the  songs  of  earlier 
risings  which  we  all  sang  during  the  last 
one: 

WRAP  THE  GREEN  FLAG 
'ROUND  ME,  BOYS 

I 

Wrap  the  green  flag  'round  me,  boys, 

To  die  'twere  far  more  sweet, 
With  Erin's  noble  emblem,  boys, 

To  be  my  winding-sheet ; 
In  life  I  longed  to  see  it  wave, 

And  followed  where  it  led, 
But  now  my  eyes  grow  dim,  my  hand 

Would  grasp  its  last  bright  shred. 

II 

Oh,  I  had  hopes  to  meet  you,  boys, 
On  many  a  well-fought  field, 
219 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

When  to  our  bright  green  banner,  boys, 
The  treacherous  foe  would  yield ; 

But  now,  alas,  I  am  denied 
My  dearest  earthly  prayer, 

You  '11  follow  and  you  '11  meet  the  foe 
But  I  shall  not  be  there. 

Ill 

But  though  my  body  molder,  boys, 

My  spirit  will  be  free, 
And  every  comrade's  honor,  boys, 

Will  still  be  dear  to  me ; 
And  in  the  thick  and  bloody  fight, 

Let  not  your  courage  lag, 
For  I  '11  be  there,  and  hovering  near 

Around  the  dear  old  flag ! 


220 


This  song,  written  by  the  Countess 
Markiewicz  to  the  tune  of  "The  Young 
May  Moon,"  had  a  great  effect  in  Dub- 
lin, before  the  rising,  in  preventing  the 
British  from  getting  Irish  recruits.  It 
was  sung  everywhere  and  went  thus : 

ANTI-RECRUITING  SONG 
I 

The  recruiters  are  raidin'  old  Dublin, 

boys, 
It 's  them  we  '11  have  to  be  troubling 

boys, 
We  '11  go  to  their  meetin's  and  give 

them  such  greeting, 
We  '11  give  them  in  German  for  fun, 

me  boys ; 
Tis    the    Germans    they're    out    to 

destroy,  me  boys, 

221 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Whose  prosperity  did  so  annoy,  me 

boys, 
So  let  each  Irish  blade  just  stick  to  his 

trade 
And  let  Bull  do  his  own  dirty  work, 
me  boys. 

CHORUS 

For  the   Germans   are  winning  the 

war,  me  boys, 
And  England  is  feeling  so  sore,  me 

boys, 
They  're    passing    conscription,    the 

only  prescription 
To  make  Englishmen  go  to  the  front, 

me  boys. 

II 

Your  boss,  he  won't  go  to  the  war,  me 

boys, 
Hun  bullets  do  him  so  annoy,  me 

boys, 

222 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

So  kindly  he  frees  you,  he  does  it  to 
squeeze  you 

To  fight  for  his  money  anu  him,  me 
boys; 

They  Ve  hunger  conscription  in  Ire- 
land, boys, 

You  '11  starve  till  you  're  thin  as  a 
wire,  me  boys, 

You  '11  get  very  thin,  but  you  won't 
care  a  pin 

For  you  '11  know  it 's  for  Ireland's 
sake,  me  boys. 

CHORUS 

For  the  English  are  losing  the  war, 

me  boys, 
And  they  want  us  all  killed  before,  me 

boys, 
The  great  German  nation  has  sworn 

their  damnation, 
And  we  '11  echo  the  curse  with  a  will, 

me  boys. 

223 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

III 

Then  hurrah  for  the  gallant  old  Dub- 
lin, boys, 
And  if  you  wouldn't  be  muddling 

boys, 
Join  a  Volunteer  corps,  or,  if  that  is  a 

bore, 
The    Citizen   Army  *s    as   good,    me 

boys. 
Then  hurrah  for  the  Volunteers,  me 

boys, 
Ireland  in  arms  has  no  fears,  me  boys, 
And  surely  if  we  would  see  Ireland 

free, 
We  '11  arm  and  we  '11  drill  for  the 

Day,  me  boys. 

CHORUS 

For  the  Germans  are  going  to  win,  me 

boys, 
And  Ireland  will  have  to  butt  in,  me 

boys, 

224 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

From  a  Gael  with  a  gun  the  Briton 

will  run, 
And  we  '11  dance  at  the  wake  of  the 

Empire,  boys! 


225 


Here  is  another  satirical  song,  very 
popular  just  before  and  during  the 
rising.  The  man  who  sung  it,  called 
Brian  na  Banba,  was  deported  by  the 
English  after  the  rising: 

HARP  OR  LION? 

Neighbors,  list  and  hear  from  me 
The  wondrous  news  I  Ve  read  to-day, 
Ireland's  love  of  liberty 
'Tis  said  is  dead  and  passed  away; 
Irish  men  have  all  grown  wiser, 
Now  they  '11  heed  no  ill  adviser, 
They  despise  their  country's  story, 
All  they  love  is  England's  glory — 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
All  they  love  is  England's  glory, 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
226 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Now  we  all  must  grieve  to  know 
The  deep  offense  our  fathers  gave, 
Meeting  men  with  thrust  and  blow 
That  came  to  rob  them  and  enslave; 
We  should  blush  for  their  ill-doing, 
Give  their  errors  no  renewing, 
And,  unlike  those  old  transgressors, 
Never  hurt  our  isle's  oppressors — 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Never  hurt  our  isle's  oppressors, 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 


Only  think  of  Hugh  O'Neill, 
Thundering  down  in  furious  style, 
To  assail  with  lead  and  steel 
The  rovers  from  our  sister  isle; 
Chiefs  and  clans  in  all  directions 
With  their  far  and  near  connections, 
Warriors  bold  and  swift  uprisers, 
Rushing  on  their  civilizers — 

22J 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Ha,  ha,  ha! 
On  their  gracious  civilizers, 
Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Surely,  friends,  the  chance  is  great 
We  '11  cast  a  cloud  on  Emmet's  fame, 
Scoff  at  Tone  and  '98, 
And    scorn    Lord    Edward's    honored 

name; 
Then,  in  quite  a  loyal  manner, 
Clip  and  dye  our  old  green  banner, 
And,  where  hangs  the  harp  of  Brian, 
Place  the  mangy  British  lion — 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Place  the  mangy  British  lion, 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Surely,  friends,  it  seems  to  me, 
England's  self  ere  now  should  know, 
These  are  things  she  '11  never  see, 
228 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Let  Ireland's  star  be  high  or  low ; 
That 's  the  truth,  whoe'er  denies  it, 
Scouts  it,  flouts  it,  or  decries  it, 
Aids  to  spread  a  vile  invention, 
Drawn  from — where  I  will  not  mention ! 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 
From  the  place  'tis  wrong  to  mention, 

Ha,  ha,  ha! 


229 


Another  song,  written  to  discourage 
recruiting  for  the  English  army  in  Ire- 
land, goes  thus : 

EIGHT    MILLIONS  OF   ENGLISH 

MEN 


Good  old  Britain,  rule  the  waves 

And  gobble  up  all  the  land, 

Bring    out    the    blacks    and    Indian 

braves 
To  jigger  the  German  band; 
Call  up  Australia  and  Canada,  too, 
To  shatter  the  Kaiser's  den, 
We  '11    stick   to   the   looms   while   the 

howitzer  booms, 
Eight  millions  of  English  men; 
Of  mafficking,  manly  men; 
Of  valiant,  loyal  men ; 
230 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

We  '11  capture  the  trade  from  here  to 
Belgrade, 
Eight  millions  of  English  men. 

II 

There  are  plenty  of  fools  in  Ireland 

still, 
Just  promise  them  something  soon, 
A  Union  Jack,  or  a  Home  Rule  Bill, 
Or  a  slice  of  the  next  new  moon; 
And  they'll  rush  to  the  colors  with 

wild  hurroos, 
What  price  the  War  Lord  then  ? 
They  '11  settle  his  hash,  while  we  gobble 

his  cash, 
Eight  millions  of  English  men ; 
Of  beef-eating,  bull-dog  men ; 
Of  undersized,  able  men; 
We  're  shy  of  the  guns,  but  we  '11  beggar 

the  Huns, 
Eight  millions  of  English  men. 


231 


This  is  a  song  that  includes  the  Irish 
leaders  in  Parliament  in  its  satire  on 
Irish  "loyalty"  to  England: 

"Now."  says  Lady  Aberdeen, 
"I  've  a  message  from  the  Queen 
To  the  loyal  hearts  in  Ireland  here  at 
home; 
She  wants  you  all  to  gather  socks, 
Plain  as  I,  or  decked  with  clocks, 
Just   to  prove   the  Irish  loyal  to   the 
throne." 

CHORUS 

To  Hell  with  the  King,  and  God  save 
Ireland, 
Get  a  sack  and  start  the  work  to-day, 
Gather  all  the  socks  you  meet,  for  the 
English  Tommies'  feet, 
232 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

When  they  're  running  from  the  Ger- 
mans far  away ! 

"When  you  Ve  gathered  all  the  socks, 

Send  them  on  to  Dr.  Cox, 
Or  to  Redmond,  or  to  Dillon,  or  myself, 

For  the  party  on  the  floor 

Have  agreed  to  look  them  o'er 
While  the  Home  Rule  Bill  is  resting  on 
the  shelf." 

CHORUS 

(Same  as  first  stanza.  The  first  line 
is  a  parody  on  the  loyalist  toast: 
"Here  9s  a  health  to  the  King,  and 
God  save  Ireland!") 


233 


The  Irish  Citizen  Army  song  was 
written  by  Jo  Connolly,  a  young  work- 
ingman,  whose  brother,  Sean  Connolly, 
was  killed  while  leading  the  attack  on 
Dublin  Castle  Easter  Monday.  Jo  was 
the  boy  who  cut  loopholes  in  the  roof 
of  the  College  of  Surgeons.  He  was 
deported  to  Wandsworth  Prison,  but 
after  a  few  months  was  released.  The 
song  is  sung  to  the  tune  which  you  know 
as  "Jonn  Brown's  Body": 

THE  IRISH  CITIZEN  ARMY 

I 

The  Irish  Citizen  Army  is  the  name  of 

our  wee  band, 
With  our  marchin'  and  our  drilling  I  'm 

sure  you  '11  call  it  grand ; 
234 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

And  when  we  start  our  fightin'  it  will  be 
for  Ireland, 
And  we  '11  still  keep  marching  on ! 

CHORUS 

Glory,  glory  to  old  Ireland! 
Glory,  glory  to  our  sireland ! 
Glory   to    the   memory   of    those   who 
fought  and  fell, 
And  we  '11  still  keep  marching  on ! 

II 

We  Ve  got  guns  and  ammunition,  we 
know  how  to  use  them  well, 

And  when  we  meet  the  Saxon,  we  will 
drive  them  all  to  Hell; 

We  Ve   got   to    free   our   country   and 
avenge  all  those  who  fell, 
So  we  still  keep  marching  on ! 

CHORUS 


235 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 
III 

King  George  he  is  a  coward,  that  no  one 

can  deny, 
When  the  Germans  come  to  England, 

from  there  he  '11  have  to  fly ; 
And  if  he  comes  to  Ireland  then,  by  God, 

he  '11  have  to  die, 
And  we  '11  still  go  marching  on ! 

CHORUS 

IV 

When  the  Germans  come  to  free  us,  we 
will  lend  a  helping  hand, 

For  we  believe  they  're  just  as  good  as 
any  in  the  land, 

They  're  bound  to  win  our  rights  for  us, 
let  England  go  be  damned! 
And  we  '11  still  keep  marching  on ! 


236 


Here  is  the  song  of  the  Irish  Vol- 
unteers, sung  at  all  concerts  held  before 
the  rising  to  get  funds  for  rifles  and 
ammunition.  The  Volunteers  sang  it 
whenever  they  marched,  and  I  have  been 
told  the  men  in  the  rising  of  '67  also 
sang  it.  It  was  sung  everywhere  dur- 
ing the  last  rising.  When  we  first  with- 
drew to  the  College  of  Surgeons,  Frank 
Robins  sang  it,  and  we  all  joined  in  the 
chorus : 

VOLUNTEER  MARCHING 
SONG 

I  '11  sing  you  a  song,  a  soldier's  song, 

With  a  cheering,  rousing  chorus, 
As    round    the    blazing    camp-fire   we 
throng, 
The  starry  heavens  o'er  us; 
237 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Impatient  for  the  coming  fight, 
And,  as  we  watch  the  dawning  light, 
Here  in  the  silence  of  the  night 
We  '11  chant  the  soldier's  song : 

CHORUS 

Soldiers  are  we  whose  lives  are  pledged 
to  Ireland! 

Some  have  come  from  a  land  beyond  the 
wave, 

Sworn  to  be  free!     No  more  our  an- 
cient sireland 

Shall  shelter  the  despot  and  the  slave! 

To-night  we  '11  man  the  bearna  booig- 
hill,1 

In  Erin's  cause  come  woe  or  weal, 

'Mid  cannon's  roar  or  rifle's  peal, 
We  '11  chant  a  soldier's  song ! 

'Mid  valleys  green  and  towering  crag, 
Our  fathers  fought  before  us, 

1  Pronounced  "barnabweel,"  which  means,  "gap  of 
danger," 

238 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

And  conquered  'neath  the  same  old  flag 

That 's  proudly  floating  o'er  us ; 
We  're  children  of  a  fighting  race 
That  never  yet  has  known  disgrace, 
And  as  we  go  our  foe  to  face, 
We  '11  chant  a  soldier's  song: 

CHORUS 

Sons  of  the  Gael,  men  of  the  Pale, 
The  long-watched  day  is  breaking! 

The  serried  ranks  of  Innisfail 
Have  set  the  tyrant  quaking! 

But  now  our  camp-fire's  burning  low, 

See  in  the  east  a  silver  glow ! 

Out  yonder  waits  the  Saxon  foe ! 
Then  chant  a  soldier's  song: 

CHORUS 


239 


The  Fianna  also  had  their  songs. 
One  of  them,  written  by  one  of  the 
Fianna  boys,  goes : 

Draw  the  sword  ye  Irish  men ! 

The  sword  is  mightier  than  the  pen ! 
Fight  the  good  old  fight  again 
To  crush  the  old  transgressor ! 

Break  the  bonds  of  slavery! 

O  great  God,  it  cannot  be 

That  Gaels  could  ever  bend  the  knee 

To  England,  their  oppressor! 


240 


Almost  before  it  was  over,  the  rising 
became  part  of  the  great  patriotic  tradi- 
tion of  Ireland,  and  on  all  sides  new 
songs  were  heard  celebrating  it  and 
those  who  took  leading  parts  in  it. 
Some  of  these  songs  were  heavy  with  a 
sense  of  the  nation's  tragedy.  Others 
— those  written  by  men  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  rising — were  often  full  of 
wit,  that  dauntless  Irish  spirit  that  does 
not  forsake  men  even  in  defeat  and  im- 
prisonment. But  the  most  moving,  now 
the  most  popular  of  them  all,  was  writ- 
ten by  a  nun.  It  is  sung  to  the  tune  of 
"Who  Fears  to  Speak  of  '98?"  and  be- 
gins: 

Who  fears  to  speak  of  Easter  Week  ? 
Who  dares  its  fate  deplore? 
241 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

The  red-gold  flame  of  Erin's  name 
Confronts  the  world  once  more! 
So,  Irishmen,  remember,  then, 
And  raise  your  heads  with  pride, 
For  great  men,  and  straight  men 
Have  fought  for  you  and  died! 

The  spirit  wave  that  came  to  save 

The  peerless  Celtic  soul, 

From  earthly  stain  of  greed  and  gain 

Had  caught  them  in  its  roll; 

Had  raised  them  high  to  do  or  die, 

To  sound  the  trumpet  call, 

To  true  men,  though  few  men, 

To  follow  one  and  all ! 

Upon  their  shield,  a  stainless  field 
With  virtue  blazoned  bright, 
With  temperance  and  purity, 
With  truth  and  honor,  right; 
And  now  they  stand  at  God's  right  hand, 
Who  framed  their  dauntless  clay, 
242 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Who  taught  them,  and  brought  them 
The  honor  of  to-day! 

The  ancient  foe  hath  boasted, — lo: 

That  Irishmen  were  tame! 

They  bought  our  souls  with  paltry  doles, 

And  told  the  world  of  slaves; 

That  lie,  men,  will  die,  men, 

In  Pearse  and  Plunkett's  graves! 


243 


Here  is  a  song  written  by  a  member  of 
the  Irish  Republican  army  while  he 
was  confined  in  Richmond  Barracks, 
Dublin,  a  month  after  the  rising.  It  is 
sung  to  the  tune  of  "The  Mountains 
of  Mourne": 

I 

In  Dublin's  fair  city  there  's  sorrow  to- 
day 

For  the  flower  of  her  manhood  who  fell 
in  the  fray; 

Her  youths  and  her  maidens,  her  joy  and 
her  pride 

Have  gone  down  in  battle,  in  war's  rag- 
ing tide. 

II 

They  came  forth  to  fight  for  a  cause 
that  was  grand, 
244 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

When  freedom  and  liberty  called  to  their 

land; 
In  the  ardor  of  youth,  in  the  spring  of 

the  year, 
They  came  without  falter,  they  fought 

without  fear. 

Ill 

Near  the  noon  of  that  day  on  that  April 

morn, 
Their   tramp   shook   the   street  where 

young  Emmet  was  born; 
They  waved  high  their  banner,  white, 

orange  and  green, 
And  it  waved  over  freemen,  the  men  of 

'i6! 

IV 

And  high  o'er  the  Liffey  it  waved  in  the 

wind, 
Over  hearts  that  were  brave  and  the 

noblest  of  minds ; 
245 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

And  they  fought  as  of  old,  and  they  held 

the  old  town 
Till  their  banner,  unsullied,  in  darkness 

went  down. 

V 

In  that  Easter  Week,  dear  old  Dublin 

was  freed, 
By  the  blood  of  her  sons  from  Swords 

to  the  Sea, 
Oh,  proudly  again  does  she  raise  her  old 

head 
When  the  nations  lament  and  salute  her 

bold  dead ! 

VI 

O    Irish   Republic!     O   dream   of   our 

dreams ! 
Resplendent  in  vision  thy  bright  beauty 

gleams ! 
Though  fallen  and  crushed  'neath  thy 

enemy's  heel, 

246 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

Thy  glory  and  beauty  shine  burnished 
like  steel ! 

VII 

Not  in  vain  was  their  death  who  for  Ire- 
land died, 

And  their  deeds  in  our  hearts  in  gold  are 
inscribed ; 

The  freeing  of  Ireland  to  us  is  their 
trust, 

And  we  can  if  we  will  it,  we  can  if  we 
must ! 

VIII 

In  Dublin's  fair  city  there  's  sorrow  to- 
day, 

For  the  flower  of  her  manhood  who  fell 
in  the  fray; 

But  in  hearts  that  are  true  there  is  noth- 
ing of  gloom, 

And  Erin  regenerate  shall  rise  from  the 
tomb! 

247 


The  rising  inspired  not  only  verse, 
but  music.  One  of  the  most  popular 
songs  in  Ireland  to-day  is  "Easter 
Week";  the  words  by  Francis  Grenade, 
the  music  by  Joseph  Mary  Crofts : 

Long,  long  the  years  thy  chains  have 
bound  thee,  Eire, 

Bitter  the  tears  that  sparkled  in  thy 
eyes, 

Sudden  the  cry  of  freedom  thrills  the 
city, 

Brave  hearts  beat  high,  thy  children 
round  thee  rise; 

'Mid  shot  and  shell,  where  flaming  can- 
non thunder, 

From  out  that  hell  we  hear  their  battle- 
cry: 

248 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

"Sinn  Fein  Amain!"     Thy  sons  salute 

thee,  Eire! 
See!     Freedom's  dawn   is  flushing  in 

the  skies ! 

Dark  Rosaleen,  thy  trampled  flag,  we 

swear  it, 
Shall  lift  its  sheen  triumphant  in  the 

sun! 
Thy  galling  chain,  our  gallant  sword 

shall  save  her, 
Ended  thy  pain  and  weeping,  dearest 

one! 
In   plaintive   strains   our   hearts   shall 

mourn  our  heroes, 
Till  once  again  thy  banner  waveth  free, 
Close  to  thy  breast,  then  guard  them, 

gentle  Eire, 
There  shall  they  rest  till  time  shall  cease 

to  be! 


'249 


If  any  proof  were  needed  of  the  un- 
broken spirit  of  our  men  after  the  ris- 
ing, there  could  be  none  better  than  in 
the  gay  and  challenging  tone  of  many  of 
the  songs  written  and  sung  at  the  in- 
ternment camp  at  Frongoch,  Wales. 
The  British  guards  were  particularly  ir- 
ritated by  one  in  which  every  verse 
ended  with  the  line: 

"Sinn  Feiners,  Pro-Germans,  alive, 
alive  OP 

But  there  was  another  that  the  guards 
not  only  tolerated  but  took  to  singing 
themselves,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
our  men.  The  reason  they  sang  it  was 
because  the  air  was  catchy  and  they  had 
no  means  of  knowing  that  the  "N.  D. 
250 


Doing  My  Bit  for  Ireland 

U."  is  the  North  Dublin  Union  or  work- 
house. It  was  written  by  Jack  Mc- 
Donagh,  brother  of  Thomas  McDon- 
agh,  the  poet,  who  signed  the  procla- 
mation of  the  republic  and  was  shot  for 
it.     Here  is  the  chorus: 

Come  along  and  join  the  British  Army, 
Show  that  you're  not  afraid, 

Put  your  name  upon  the  roll  of  honor, 
In  the  Dublin  "Pal's  Brigade" ! 

They  '11   send   you   out   to    France   or 
Flanders, 
To  show  that  you  're  true  blue, 

But  when  the  war  is  o'er, 

They  won't  need  you  any  more, 
So  they'll  shut  you  in  the  N.D.U. ! 


THE   END 


251 


Date  Due 

APR     4 

1991 

APR  2  9 

1991 

MAY  t  n 

fin!    c  u 

1991 

FFB  - 

3  2005 

/^/^ 

:,     " 

t;  '  '  - 

f> 

/  u  - 


BOSTON  COLLEGE 


3  9031   01646346  5 


205475 


Boston  College  Library 

Chestnut  Hill  67,  Mass. 

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